#scheming!reader

[sena-shi]

SAGAU but with Scheming Creator!Reader Impostor AU [PT. 4]

Note on this chapter: manipulative!reader!creator is downgrading themselves just for shit and giggles

The pursuit went on for such a long time that you could nearly make out the silhouette of the sun in the distance. As soon as those who were chasing you received notice directly from the Tianquan of the Liyue Qixing, they immediately gave up and stopped their search of you.

You do suppose that they are all present at the place where Zhongli is enjoying himself while slowly and sweetly tending to their beloved creator.

It wouldn't even be a surprise if they started chasing after you once more at this point. But not with the intent to destroy you; rather, to capture you and adore you.

You did notice that Zhongli caught the crystal tear that you let out when you were preparing to leave the place, so it wouldn't be hard for him to convince everyone that the creator who is enjoying their time in your own throne is a fake.

Zhongli may give off the impression that he is a nice and compassionate man; however, this outward demeanor belies a murderous nature that he possesses.

Even if he has the ability to disguise himself as a mortal, he will never be able to conceal the fact that he went on a murderous rampage during the archon war.

You can't help but be reminded of the way he looked at you that night, and it's probably only a matter of time until he makes another attempt to see you once more.

“Hah. What a possessive bunch,” You mumbled under your breath as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

You let out a contented sigh as you take in the sound of the birds chirping and begin to hum a tune as the grass gently caresses your feet as you stroll.

The rush of adrenaline that you experienced while you were always on the verge of dying away has not yet completely left your system.

The landscape in and around Liyue is breathtaking. In point of fact, it is the excellent nation in which to frolic about under the bright stars while being hunted like a rabbit.

Hours passed and the sun is almost blinding as you stood once again on top of the Guyun Stone Forest.

You are quite a distance away from the Crux Fleet, which is in the middle of the ocean; even so, this is precisely where you need to be.

Even if you have the ability to immediately teleport to Inazuma, you are not so ungenerous as to deny them the opportunity of offering you a very friendly greeting.

Exciting, isn't it? Once you arrive, will you be greeted with warm pleasantries, or will the sharp and icy blades stab you in the chest first?

From your vantage point on the stone, you surveyed the area below in the ship and noticed that they were making preparations to depart.

You are aware that Beidou is a rather laid-back individual, but there is no doubt that the other people who are boarding the ship are already aware of an imposter who is traveling across the nation of Liyue.

Thus, you used some of your spare time to search for materials that could be used to fashion something that could conceal your upper body while also not drawing too much attention to itself.

Although you prefer to be undisguised just for the sake of taunting everyone, you still need to reach Inazuma.

You can’t have them throwing you off the ship now, can you? Or maybe you do? There are countless possibilities, and all of them are very exciting to experience. 

Simply taking in the sight of their enchantingly furious faces is enough to satiate your insatiable need for amusement.

You let out a bored sigh as you tugged the veil down slightly, just enough to cover your chin. At that moment, you caught a glimpse of Kazuha sitting by the edge, his stature facing you, his head slightly tilted upwards, and his eyes closed as if trying to enjoy the breeze coming to him before it disappeared.

He exudes an air of tranquility, much like Venti did in Windrise.

Your lips begin to twitch into a smile as an idea race through your head.

In an instant, you found yourself high above the clouds and falling directly towards the ship. Since you are aware that someone will catch you, you aren't really experiencing any fear at this point.

And someone really did.

The boy who had been sitting there quietly all of a sudden rose up and leaped up, giving the impression that he was actually aware of it and was very much ready to catch you.

The veil fluttered wildly, paired with the boy’s clothes dancing in the air because of the strong wind. 

You could feel the anemo vision trembling and a wind coming from the boy swirling and grasping you.

All visions in the area resonated with your aura and blazed brilliantly, as if they were aware you were in danger.

You felt warm hands held your body, and the creaking sound of the wood reminded you that you had already landed.

There were a number of gasps that could be heard, and shortly after that, the sound of individuals speaking in low whispers started to permeate the surroundings. However, what attracted your attention was Beidou staring at the vision on her hips in a manner that indicated she was surprised to witness her vision reacting in such a way for the first time.

‘It appears that even the visions are strongly reacting to my presence,’ You thought to yourself, giving a sly grin behind your veil.

After what seemed like an eternity, all of the crew members of the crux were suddenly jolted out of their stupor and realized that someone had just literally dropped down into their ship from the sky.

They were about to approach you in hopes of interrogating you when Beidou lifted her hand to halt their movement and prevent them from questioning you.

Perhaps she too, is also curious of you.

Maybe if her vision hadn't been constrained by her clothing, it would have made its way over to you by now.

“I haven’t seen the captain’s friend smile like that— I mean, he does smile, but his eyes are literally about to form into a heart shape!”

“Captain even forbids us to get close to the mysterious woman. Must be a big shot, huh?”

“Or maybe it’s someone close to the captain. Well, whatever, just don’t disturb the lady. Get back to work!”

 Kazuha gave you a warm smile, who was pressed up against his chest. His hands are firmly gripping you, not the least bit considering releasing their hold on you.

He felt the dull vision stored deep within his pockets burned for a moment as if trying to get out before the feeling went away once he finally caught you. This does nothing but strengthen his belief that you are the person he has been searching for all along.

"The winds have changed," he whispered tenderly as he started to move carefully to the back of the ship where there are fewer people, the genuine smile on his face not wavering even the tiniest bit.

You let out a quiet laugh, and the sound was almost like wind chimes as it reached his ears.

You gave a very tiny cocking of your head to the side, and Kazuha could almost picture your face painted with a kind smile as it always was.

Even though your face is hidden by the veil, he cannot help but feel a fluttering in his chest whenever he considers the possibility that your eyes, which he imagines to be breathtakingly lovely, are fixated on him.

“How so?”

After placing you on the ship's wooden rail, he took your hand in his and planted a passionate kiss on the back of your hand.

What a bold kid.

“Because you’re now home, my creator.”

You gave him a sideways glance while giggling quietly at his antics before responding, "I shall remember this first welcome I have received." Kazuha blinked, appearing to be puzzled. “May I ask why?”

"You were the very first person to greet me when I arrived in this world," You spoke in a quiet voice, and he could detect a trace of melancholy and yearning in your voice.

And finally, you can see that the smile that was plastered on Kazuha's face from the very beginning has begun to waver, almost as if he has come to some kind of understanding.

That’s right, no one would welcome you, not if you were being accused of being an imposter. 

You kept a close eye on him, noticing how his hands clenched into a fist as he observes your tired expression. Even so, he did not display any signs of anger and instead move his gaze at your hands, which appeared to be shaking slightly.

He stood there watching you sigh, without moving as your hands moved to clasp his and slowly uncurled his fist.

"It's not good to harbor hatred in one's heart," You opened his hand and made small circles on his palm, as if attempting to calm him down. "You know that better than I do, Kazuha."

"You are too good for this world, my divine creator," he mumbled, concentrating on the sensation in his palm.

You laughed as you realized Beidou was listening in on your talk from behind a pillar.

You let out a snort. Does she think you can't spot her?

"Teyvat was simply one of the countless stars I have created; it is far from flawless, but it will always be my home."

Kazuha's attention was captured by you as he waited eagerly to hear your tale.

You turned your head to gaze at him from below as you brought your hands to rest on his head and lovingly patted the soft locks.

"Just as I desired to feel a sense of belonging in this world, I also hoped that my creations would feel the same way and make this world their home—" Kazuha misunderstood your heavy sigh as a sign of melancholy. But you were only trying to remember the garbage nonsense that the Akademiya scholars had written about you. 

You are just that bored and feel like sharing that crap with one of your precious characters.

You spent your nights reading a lot of books about yourself in this world, and every single one of those books is full of meaningless rubbish. Nevertheless, you will settle for whatever you can get your hands on.

If you include a touch of angst and tragedy in your tale, you can instantly raise it to the level of art that it truly deserves to be.

However, for Kazuha and Beidou, who are currently listening in on the story, this is more than a passing feeling of sadness. They have already started to feel depressed in your place.

"When I first created Teyvat, I always made certain that the living beings in the place I created were always happy. They desired something to help them protect themselves while I am not present, so I provided them a vision with a portion of my power."

The Akademiya scholars really are imaginative.

You came to a stop for a moment when you noticed Beidou not far away, caressing the vision on her hip as if it were the finest gift she had ever received.

"I granted and they received; as long as their faces light up with a smile, then I am pleased."

"It's just— I wish I had the strength to go on. I can still do it, but I'll be too weak to even make an appearance. As a result, I vanished from the world to continue meeting their demands,"

Beidou's expression hardened as she came to the realization that while their real creator is experiencing the drawbacks of granting them the power to defend themselves, the fake creator who descended a long time ago is enjoying the benefits that are not supposed to be theirs. 

You carried on despite the fact that neither of the other two responded to what you said. "I returned to this world not too long ago," You said as you appeared to be reminiscing about something as you gazed up at the sky.

“It seems like it’s time for me to take a step back and rest,” You laughed to lighten the mood, but the two people who were listening to your story did not experience any sense of relief as a result of your humor. After listening to your story, their hearts felt even heavier, to the point where it was practically difficult for them to breathe normally.

You— take a step back and rest? Does this mean that they will never be able to see you again once you have made the decision to eventually depart from the world that you have created?

Beidou was unable to stand it any longer and eventually emerged from her hiding position. As she approached you, she peered at you closely with her brows furrowed and took several significant strides forward.

“If they ever apologize to you, will you forgive them?”

You withdrew your hand and placed it on your lap, "Why would I forgive them?"

Beidou and Kazuha blinked at the same time.

"I will never be able to blame them. It is because I was lacking in some way and did not meet their expectations that they even chose to replace me with someone else," As you spoke, you let out a sigh and tugged off the veil that was concealing your upper body. At last, they were able to see the gentle smile of their actual creator, which was directed at them.

How really unfortunate. But they have no right to feel sad, not when you are the one bearing all the suffering of this world, but your people never acknowledged it and instead continued to worship someone who doesn't even do batshit.

Their divine creator is just far too merciful and forgiving of their wrong doings. They are simply far too wonderful to remain in this world, and they do not deserve the favors and blessings you are bestowing upon them.

"Perhaps, I am not a good creator. The people that live in this world deserve the best, and if they can find what they're seeking in the creator that they've been protecting, then I can't help but just be glad for them.”

If self-downgrading is an achievement, then you probably would’ve receive a customized name card for yourself by now.

Kazuha struggled to find his voice before eventually expressing himself. "That is not true; we are the ones who do not deserve you, my divine creator."

"They may have turned their backs on you, but I will stick by your side till the very end of time."

"Kazuha, you are destined for something much more meaningful. If you continue to follow me, you will only harm yourself." You made a motion with your head to indicate that you did not agree, and the youngster quickly kneeled down in front of you.

You heaved a sigh and patted his head. What a well-behaved youngster.

He is someone who obeys his creator solely for the purpose of protecting them, and not like the archons, for the purpose of having the creator all to themselves.

You gave Beidou just a fleeting look, almost as if you were about to ask for her help, and she almost laughed at how adorable you are. It would seem that their creator is even capable of experiencing discomfort when confronted with an act of genuine kindness.

Or, it's possible that you've become so used to being attacked that you've forgotten what it's like to be loved.

The moment Kazuha glanced up at you with his begging eyes, you instinctively covered them with your palm.

“The sun is bright; you might hurt your eyes.”

“I think it is lovely,” Kazuha said with a smile while looking at you even more intently with a thoughtful gaze.

In response, you let out a chuckle as you ruffled his hair in a playful manner. Clearly comfortable, Kazuha let out a contented sigh as he slowly dozed off with his head resting on your lap.

You started mentally counting down from ten while humming a melody to yourself and playing with the lone wandering samurai’s hair in the meantime.

It's only a matter of time before the people who have been hunting you catch up with you in the end.

Teyvat was whispering, you sense the ground to be rumbling.

It seems as though an angry archon is getting closer and closer, and while this won't have any negative effects on you, it will most certainly have consequences for the individuals he rules.

‘You really did not disappoint me, Morax.’

To think that he would breach the contract he had with the Tsaritsa only for you, and that he would personally obtain his gnosis back just so that he could see you once more is far more amazing.

Amber eyes that shone brightly and were filled with fixation peered directly at you from a great distance away. The Geo Archon is willing to go to war with another nation simply to be able to have you in his arms.

It's likely that you went too far with your performance, and as a result, you may have caused the Geo Archon to lose their final shred of sanity. But that would just make things even more interesting, right?

You turned your head to stare at the sky, giving him your disapproving glance in response to his obsession on you.

Morax became more cautious with his grip on his weapon as soon as he noticed you looking at him in a manner that conveyed such dissatisfaction.

Simply for your own sake, he has taken this extreme measure. The nation of the Electro Archon is a considerably more hostile one, and although he acknowledges that he also failed his duty to defend you against his people, this does not mean that he will not seize the opportunity to amend his wrongdoings once given the opportunity.

The ground began to violently shake, and even the water in the ocean started to get restless. The area was quickly filled with the sound of a crowd that had gathered along the shoreline.

He is so desperate to get his hands on you that he has even sought the assistance of his adepti.

“Shit— prepare to set sail!” Beidou exclaimed.

You caught his glance, and although if on the surface you appear to be dissatisfied, on the inside you can't help but chuckle at the sight of his face.

"My divine creator…" Because of the look you were giving him, his heart aches, and in an effort to soothe himself, he absentmindedly touched the weapon that you had given him.

You don't have any resentment towards him, do you? As long as you are still alive, he has a chance to make amends and win your forgiveness.

He is eager to do whatever it takes to keep you entertained only so that you will look at him once more.

Morax fixed his hard gaze firmly on you while murmuring something to himself in a dark voice, "...allow me to be selfish."

TAGLIST: @ichiraku-verse @iruiji @ineedsleepbutirefuse @valeriele3 @i-have-a-lot-of-ocs @sleepyboi-01 @jennyzyn @existoypunto @ilysia @foggyzinemuffinhands @byakuren100 @jaxielous @enargeia-is-a-fangirl @thehoneymushroomhealer @yunareinhart @fuckingfaraway

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(fuk i can't remember my taglist nor I remember I have a fanfic to finish)

very busy with making mommy ei come home again

[withered-blossoms]

(Withered-Blossoms) SAGAU Scheming Creator! Reader Imposter AU Part 5

A/N: First and foremost, this AU is by @sena-shi

I do not own this series, nor the idea.

Secondly, I absolutely love this series, it is amazingly written and I would highly recommend checking it out to those who haven't. Third, after reading part 4, I suddenly had a tiny bit of inspiration and I wanted to try writing my version of part 5 of it (this will not affect the original author in writing part 5 of the series, worry not).

Edit: The original author has given me her consent to write my version of this series, admittedly I should have dm'ed her beforehand, and I will never make this mistake again.

Also this is not proofread, so apologies for some typos/spelling mistakes. The word count is 3878 words or so Google Docs says.

Anyways, enjoy :DDDD

꧁༺Main Page | Angst Masterlist | Fluff Masterlist༻꧂

If every year of not being graced with your divine presence acts as a tiny blade that cuts a fibre of the impossibly thin thread known as Zhongli's sanity, then seeing you allowing these.....unworthy, mortal commoners to bask in the holy light you radiate would be the pair of scissors that snips the thread in half.

How dare they, when those foolish mortals are unable and consequently have not worshipped you for thousands of years, flit around you like the pesky flies they were? How dare they, not having devoted their entire being, their entire life, their existence's purpose to you, drink up your attention so hungrily? How dare they take the place that belonged, rightfully so, to him and only him when what they have done for you are nothing but specks of dust compared to the glorious acts he carried out in your name?

So why were you choosing to stay with them? When they have done nothing worthy of your grace? Why were you looking at him with a gaze that carried the heavy disappointment and disapproval that you never voiced? Zhongli does not understand, and neither do the adepti now standing beside him in a neat, uniform line, waiting for their archon's commands.

You find it amusing though. One would think that for someone who has lived for so long like Zhongli, he would be an expert at hiding his emotions and maintaining that mask of cool, indifferent politeness that he took pride in. And yet look at him now, losing that ability and reverting back to a child who knows not about keeping emotions from twisting their features into an ugly snarl.

Ganyu, on the other hand, looked pale and regretful. Under normal circumstances, should such a look appear on a face as pretty as Ganyu's, anyone else would have gone soft and thrown in the towel. But yet that sight filled your heart with this twisted sort of satisfaction. The desire for them to beg and grovel at your feet for forgiveness was thinly veiled behind a mask of betrayal and shock, and you were starting to find it hard not to let your eyes crinkle from the smirk threatening to curve your lips.

Not now, you reminded yourself, it's not the time for your facade to shatter.

And Xiao, your sweet, sweet child, who also happens to be the one responsible for the wound scabbed over on your leg. He, who was so persistent on making sure you were unable to escape, could not even look at your eyes now, amber orbs choosing to lock onto their targets instead. He couldn't bring himself to check your form, not when the chance of your bloody bandages catching his attention was so great.

After all, Rex Lapis needs his finely-honed weapon to carry out his commands now, and he couldn't break down in front of his divine creator. He's already shown such a horrifying part of him to you, one that slaughtered and knew nothing else, he would really go insane if you started fearing his more unsightly sides.

You would have applauded Morax and his little clique for the entertaining display of emotions had the boat not started to rock even more. It truly was a shame that they did not take up Sichuan Opera face-changing; they would have done so well even without the masks.

Meanwhile, Beidou was busy commanding the crew and making preparations for a possible tsunami, and Kazuha was ready to scoop you into his arms and bring you under deck. You, however, were not willing to miss this act, and thus stopped him by placing a hand over his. Temporarily ignoring how he froze up and blushed, you turned to the defenders of Liyue.

You could tell that the only reason why Zhongli kept up the intensity of the earthquake was because Xiao or the Cloud Retainer would immediately pluck you out of the ship before it was swallowed by the massive waves, but would you really just let yourself be taken to Liyue like this? Before even seeing the famed Inazuma? Of course not, after all you still had to see how Raiden Shogun, the one you personally raised alongside Zhongli, would react after seeing your face.

Choosing to let the winds carry your seemingly heartbroken words to their ears, you muttered, "Are you.....here to capture me? Is Liyue really unable to tolerate my existence?" And oh how much delight their flinches brought, especially the one coming from the ever-composed Geo Archon. Upon hearing your words, the group dropped to their knees, the seabed stilling as apologies and pleads spilled from their lips.

Beidou and her crew on the other hand though, you really got to give it to them. As if sensing your intentions to leave quickly, they took the chance to sail away as quickly as possible, with the winds guiding the ship. And of course, you were not going to let their efforts go to waste, choosing to keep the crazed adepti at bay with your sorrowful words.

"I've already given you my word to stay out of your sight, Morax. I apologise for breaking my promise to you, and if Liyue wishes so, I will disappear here and now. However, if you are still willing to listen to me, then I wish not for any harm to befall on these kind souls." You sighed, motioning to the Alcor's crew.

You weren't dumb; you could practically see the sparks forming from their clashing gazes. Beidou and Kazuha's were filled with hatred— disdain, even— and the adepti's a beautiful mix of hesitation and jealousy. What a wonderful sight it was, seeing the high and mighty adepti almost grovelling at your feet, and watching them struggle internally between their twisted desires and your commands.

The quirk of your lips was getting harder and harder to hide even behind your veil, and you had to turn your head before you burst out laughing at their foolish attempt at redemption.

But even the turn of your head was planned, not that they needed to know anyways. You know their rotten brains will just automatically decipher this action as a small try to hide your disappointment. Adding the facts that Zhongli had made you cry and Xiao had wounded you personally into the equation, the tides would no doubt turn to your favour.

Seeing how Zhongli's grip on his weapon tightened then loosened, you knew you had won the bet. He could only keep his head down low and motion for the adepti to retreat while stilling the earth, though his burning gaze stayed on your form until The Alcor all but disappeared into the horizon. He simply couldn't risk you leaving Teyvat for good, not when he finally had you in his grasp, and so he will wait patiently for the right time, just as he had for the past thousands of years.

"It is time for our divine grace to take back their throne." He muttered, the adepti bowing when they realised what his words entailed. He knew they would not run their mouth in front of the others; this was a matter only for the adepti to know. Not long after, Zhongli was left alone, the others returning to their posts and duties. He watched as the Alcor gradually disappeared from his sights, vowing that he would bring you back no matter what.

And with that grand finale, you finally left Liyue.

The journey to Inazuma was relatively pleasant, save for the terrifying thunderstorms at the lower-half of the trip. But eventually the ship docked, and you saw that familiar teleport waypoint where you once met the capable and friendly housekeeper named Thoma, except that he was nowhere to be seen this time. Oh well, it does not matter, he is probably at the Kamisato estate, waiting for his Lord's commands as usual. What was more important was playing your part as the kind and benevolent creator, and so you turned to the crew and smiled sweetly, thanking them for getting you to Inazuma safely with as much sincerity as you could muster to make it more convincing.

Travelling along the streets, without a friendly local guide this time, you could not help but subtly glance around. From the game, you always knew how the locals here treated foreigners, but experiencing it yourself turned that knowledge into the understatement of the year. It wasn't just overcharging you to a ridiculous degree; there were also the stares that never seemed to leave your figure and the whispers that revolved around you as if you were the eye of a tornado.

But it matters not. As long as they don't stop you from "vacationing" in this gorgeous nation, then you won't pay any mind to their actions.

However, this time the plot happened faster. You had no idea just how The Shogun managed to grasp the news of a fake creator being present when she was so....closed-off from the world, but clearly she had some amazing news sources. The streets were filled with even more patrolling officers than you recalled, and even the people on the streets had taken to scattering when the Doushin came around.

Well, this was clearly not a good time to be a foreigner huh? Because a Doushin was already heading your way, and in a condescending tone had asked for your identity, or any documents related to it. You did not have any, though this time even Kazuha could not save you with his smooth-talking, which in fact seemed to annoy the officer more.

Instead, the officer reached out to remove your veil, but Kazuha wasn't going to let him. Half because he knew you were going to get taken away, and the other half was due to the slight possessivenes swirling in his chest. Why should he have to let other people be graced by your beauty and light?

Although shielding you from the guard did seem to wear his patience thinner than the thread that made up Zhongli's sanity.

Sensing Kazuha's worry when the officer roughly grabbed your arm to take you away, you slyly patted the back of his hand and shook your head, putting on a comforting smile and whispering for him to go back to the Crux.

Despite his initial hesitation, you knew he'd listen to you anyways. After all, he couldn't fight the Doushin here and risk getting his kind, caring and benevolent creator injured or even exposed here could he?

Hence he retreated, hungrily drinking up your sweet smile as you were dragged away. He feared that this might be the last time he'll ever see of you and so he did his best to engrave the soft and beautiful curve of your lips into his memory as he went back to find Beidou.

You, on the other hand, weren't too worried. After making sure you had fooled Kazuha with a convincing smile, you opted to follow the guard instead. He was essentially your one-way ticket to the Raiden, so why not? Even though you would have to be thrown into a prison cell, you supposed that it wouldn't be the worst thing on Earth.

In the end, you will be the one seeing their arrogance and triumph morph into an amusing combination of regret and desperation anyways, and you certainly weren't in a rush to speed up the process.

".....Is this the order of The Shogun?" You asked, knowing that he most likely weren't going to give you an answer, but you still have to keep up the role, which was as fake as they had deemed your identity to be. So, you let out a seemingly self-mocking chuckle.

"First Mondstadt, then Liyue, and now Inazuma. It would seem that I am truly not wanted by my children. But at least they look happy and content. After all, even baby birds leave their nests one day...."

Muttering to yourself, you didn't miss the slight flinch from the officer, though it only earned you his panic, hidden behind a harsh shove into your cell once he's done reporting to his higher-ups.

"Do not act like you're the real creator, Their Grace may be forgiving and benevolent, but we certainly will not be merciful."

He snorted and walked off. Good lord, you have never seen anyone as arrogant as that. And of course you weren't complaining, it just makes their begging afterwards more.....satisfying, wouldn't you agree?

That doesn't make your time in the cell any more pleasant though, seeing how they saved the worst one for you.

You didn't have to wait long though, since it only took an hour or two before Kujou Sara was standing before you, peering down at your curled up form as if you were the most repulsive being she's ever laid her eyes on.

Instead, she settled for ordering the guards to free you from confinement and had them escort you while she lead the way to the Shogun's residence. Sara spoke not a word to you as usual, and you busied yourself with looking around subtly while keeping your head low to mask your lack of fear. The scenery was more beautiful than what you had seen in game; the colours were more vivid, and even the lavender melon that hadn't looked appetising were practically tempting you to take a bite out of their orchid bodies. Unfortunately, you didn't get to take in the beautiful view a little longer, for they had already brought you into the Tenshukaku.

It would seem that Raiden is eager to meet you, seeing how swiftly her subordinates dragged you to the Tenshukaku. Upon entering the room, your eyes landed on the puppet sitting serenly on her throne, eyes closed and meditating. Hah, what a nice facade to disguise the anger practically radiating off of her.

You weren't scared though. After all, even dogs don't bite the hand that feeds them, and you could easily take back everything you've ever graced them with.

Thus, 'long time no see, my strongest battery.' was your first thought, though you could not let that spill past your lips. Hence, you let out a small but sweet smile and mumbled in the sweetest voice you could let flow from your vocal chords.

"How have you been, Ei?"

The archon in question slowly opened her eyes, elegant and refined as always. Although, from the fury burning in her purple irises alone, you could already tell that she wanted your existence to cease, and that if it weren't for the fact that the creator had asked to bring you back alive, you feared she may have slashed you with her elemental burst right here and now.

You could sense how the Doushin and Sara froze upon hearing you address their archon by her real name. However, before Sara could reprimand you, a look from Raiden sent them bowing and leaving the room. And now, it was just you and her.

You were just wondering why she demanded to meet you alone when a thought popped up in your brain — could it be that because she couldn't execute you personally without the other archons present, she wishes to hurt you in a non-lethal way instead? Seeing the confirmation in the lilac eyes you once found beautiful, you almost let out a snort. My my, who knew that the almighty Raiden Ei was actually such a sadist?

You refused to let her hurt you though. How dare they hurt the actual divine being who had given them life and created this beautiful world for them to live in for a mere phony? How dare they give you scars just because they were too ignorant to see who's the real deal?

With that in mind, you raised your eyes to meet hers, yours ever so subtly showing the galaxies they hold, and hers slowly filling with slight confusion when she noticed the depth of your orbs. It did not hinder her from holding her precious sword to your neck though, so you cut her off before she could speak.

"You mentioned that when we meet, you wished for us to enjoy some tricolour dango together along with the finest tea you have. It is such a shame that we had to meet like this." You smiled, keeping your gaze and voice level as you took in every change in her expression from suspect, to shock, to disbelief and finally distrust.

"....I do not know how you dug up that information. It matters not, for that only applies to their Grace. You are but an imposter who is undeserving and yet seeks to take over the throne, and I shall not be deceived so easily. Since their Grace is too kind to the likes of you, I will take it upon myself as their loyal devotee to punish you for your atrocious attempt."

Before she could lift her blade, you grabbed it with a hand. You thanked the high heavens that it was as sharp as you hoped it to be, since you did not have to dig the blade too deeply into your skin for your blood to show. You weren't willing to leave scars because of their foolishness after all, and God knows that those maniacs would be more delighted knowing that they had marked you in some way, albeit under less ideal circumstances.

The two of you watched as the ichor slid down your arm before one, two, three drops of it splattered onto the pristine white clothing you had. It shimmered an ethereal gold before being absorbed, and Raiden had finally gone still for once. You could almost hear the non-existent gears turning in the puppet's head, where a brain was supposed to be, and before you could react, she had gently removed your injured hand from her blade and tossed the sword aside.

Kneeling before you, she fretted over your injury while keeping her head low as Zhongli and the adepti had, desperately trying to heal you. Frantic apologies flowed from her lips like a river, and she panicked slightly more when she noticed that you were still bleeding. She was selfish, not wanting others to know about your existence, but your well-being and health eventually won the mental debate taking place in the puppet's head.

"Your grace, I did not realise it was you. My sincerest apologies for being ignorant, and I am aware of how unworthy I am to touch you but I beg of you, do let me heal your injuries before you decide to take your anger out on me." Having said that, she called for Sara to bring a medical kit, and the lady swiftly came in worth one in her hand. She showed neither shock nor regret as she helped the Shogun patch up your hand, though you supposed that it was only normal considering the number of years she's had in learning how to keep her emotions from showing on her face.

Huh, even a short-lived mortal is more capable than long-lived archons in this aspect.

You were tempted to stay and see how Ei and Inazuma would react and repent for their sins, yet the beginnings of an earthquake warned you to leave quickly. Your time in the Tenshukaku was almost up, so you quickly grabbed a brush and paper and left a note for a certain angy dragon. Or maybe it was an angy Teyvat, you didn't know. Just in case it was the former though, you could only hope that a note would prevent the people of this gorgeous nation from being decimated.

'Morax, I wish not for the citizens of Inazuma to face your wrath. With that, I hope you spare them from death and suffering alike.'

The note was short and sweet, as you had liked. There was nothing else to say to him anyways, so you rolled up the paper and turned to Ei, placing it into her hands.

"If you wish for your people and nation to live on, pass this to Morax if he arrives. Do not fight, your people should take priority. I'm terribly sorry for ruining your eternity, but it seems that you are favoured by luck itself, for my time is up." You lifted the corners of your lips into a gentle curve as you patted her hand.

You really were too kind, so benevolent and so bright that Ei could not believe her eyes nor ears. Her people watched and talked about you behind your back, dragged and tossed you into the filthiest cell they had, and she herself had injured you personally. She wanted to make it up to you, to proceed and lavish you in the best luxuries Inazuma, no, Teyvat could provide. She did not want you to be absent from her side, so why was it that even though you were in her hold now, it seemed like you would disappear any second?

What did she have to do to make you stay? Did you want her heart? Her head? Or should she injure her hand the way she had injured you? Tell her, what did you want from the Raiden Shogun? She would give you everything and anything, from her eternity to the stars in the sky. So why? Why did you still want to leave? Why not stay with her for eternity?

Seeing the crazed looks in those purple orbs, you removed yourself from her tightening grasp and avoided her attempts to hold onto you to ensure your stay. You still had to visit either Sumeru or Watatsumi Island anyways, and being held in captivity was not a price you were willing to pay. You knew that she could and would easily pull you into her consciousness, and you sincerely did not want to live your life there.

Reminding yourself that, your eyelids fluttered shut and you let the wisps of power engulfing you take you away, finding yourself in front of the Alcor again. Technically speaking, you also did owe the crew an explanation for your sudden disappearance and some reassurance, the sudden hug from Kazuha only proving you right. Even though you weren't close to him or Beidou, you still felt a little guilty when you realised that he was shaking.

To make it up to him, you patted his back and offered Beidou to join in on the hug, which she appeared to accept begrudgingly but you knew better, especially from the way her shoulders sagged in relief. Once they had both calmed their nerves, you ushered them back to work. Despite them questioning your next destination, you knew it would be impractical for them to sail to the other nations with you, and teleport waypoints were a godsend. You told the two that, and as disappointed as they were to not be able to accompany you, they still respected your wishes unlike a certain duo, possibly trio, which you greatly appreciated.

Hence,for the first time since arriving in Teyvat, you gave your first genuine smile, making Kazuha swoon internally and Beidou turn away in order to hide her burning cheeks. You were very well aware that the archons could possibly see this, though you weren't worried. In spite of the lightning flashing in the background and the rumble of the earth, you knew that they wish not to end up in your bad books just for a few mortals. Having confirmed the safety of the people who had helped you, you could finally retreat to your room on the ship and decide your next destination.

Now, where should you grace with your presence next?

[precious-little-scoundrel]

Masters of the Air Fanfic

As requested by sweet @arianatheangel-girl and the subsequent poll for a “Buck Cleven Fic before the series comes out” -and I, being a madwoman with no impulse control and a faint recollection of the book, have delivered…this…whatever this is

Song Challenge: i was challenged by dear @the-ugly-swan for a twenty favored songs challenge and I’m gonna go ahead and make this part of it. August by Taylor Swift informed some of the bittersweet timeline here, with infidelity not being the enemy but rather the lack of possessing oneself fully during wartime to give to another

Spoilers: historical accuracy and inaccuracy abound here so, beware there are some biographical facts about Cleven in here that might count as spoilers to those who wish to watch the series with a blank slate. While to the history purists I must beg for a substantial amount of artistic license to be granted me, and obviously I’ve not seen the show yet and I crunched the timeline to my own will

Reader insert but without the use of “y/n” -I’m utterly fudging a bit on the likelihood of a WAAF lady being part of the American ground crew, however, I had in my minds eye the vision of a greasy mechanic and a glamorous flyboy and it wouldn’t budge, so shhh, go with the vibe

Warnings: mature, 18+. Fluffy smut was requested and while it is very brief and mild in here, not very explicit in phrasing, it’s quite present and a plot point so beware. Also, Virgin!Gale has my heart so we went with that. No shade to dear Marjorie irl, I’ll probably end up writing fics about her once the show gives me Inspo. Some angst due to war, POW’s, etc, mild language

Word count: a monstrous 12k

They came in like locusts at the height of summer, long prayed for, oft cursed in moments of perilous isolation, those ever so intriguingly shiny Americans.

Swarming with a metal buzz over the flatlands of East Anglia, big hulking beasts touched down on fresh tarmacs with more grace than anything that size ought to have, flashing the most bizarre and suggestive paintings on their gleaming fuselages. Flying Fortresses, they were called, and deserved the name. Nothing but the biggest, the loudest, the most alarming machinery would do for the American war effort, and now all this mighty strength was Britain’s too, no longer alone, no longer enduring.

Now the fight could be taken to the enemy in earnest. Out of their flying ships poured the most alarmingly young looking faces, jaunty hats and leather jackets, they looked every bit the sort of fellows war was advertised to.

Farmers in their tractors, mothers with daughters still under their command and RAF veterans all looked askance at such pristine warriors. Had their fertile fields been paved into airfields just for this? Were these gum chewing boys the long expected aid? It wasn’t anti-climactic, nothing American could ever be, it was all just alarmingly fresh. It was understandable then, the initial tentativeness the locals felt towards their new occupants, the way the boys took up such space in the rural villages, made such a racket in the pubs, chased every skirt that swished in the rainy summer breeze, stuck hands out for a shake no matter the introduction. They were a warm, boisterous and confident lot, all much needed attributes in wartime Britain, and soon, the initial distrust of the citizenry thawed, hands were shaken in return and invitations made. An amiable amalgamation eventually occurred, Norfolk never to recover or return to whatever placidity had been her’s before the arrival of the 100th.

Personally, you couldn’t wait to get your hands on them. The planes, that is.

Amalgamation was less a choice for yourself and your service members than a duty. It was abnormal, having a mixed ground crew, British and American servicemen too often clashing in hierarchy disputes for it to be standard, but with deployment rates so high and casualties mounting, ground crew became a case of whichever skilled individuals could be called upon to keep the operation running, the pilots up and the enemy bombed.

You were just glad to be near home, first time back since ‘39 when you’d signed up in the Women's Auxiliary Air Force -even if your rural hometown was now overrun with Americans. They weren’t a bad lot at all, at least not the ones you’d encountered so far on base. Amiable and unexpectedly eager, undeterred by veterans’ grim looks and tales of the woodchipper across the channel, that line of anti-aircraft that shredded anything trying to penetrate the continent.

“Better get crackin’ then.” Was the common response followed by a grin.

Your crew chief sergeant, Ken Lemmons, an American with a forelock of sandy ringlets and the patience of a saint, made the job easier even as every ounce of expertise was exacted from each man -or woman- under him. Feeding a fiery chain of bullets into the turret gun under a hot July sun, you thought your papa may have had the right of it when he tried to dissuade you from choosing the harsher duties of the Auxiliary Force. You could’ve been pouring over a map in the cool of the boardroom right now, or passing on radio messages, even shuttling planes would’ve been more relaxing, but no, you’d spent your life passing him tools in his garage, your papa had been building flying machines when most for these boys were still in diapers, and that path called to you, too. So for you it was grueling maintenance work and the ever present grime of grease on your hands and the awkward reach of twisted metal repairs. Gratefully, after their first mission, there were plenty of them back safe, however riddled their fortresses might’ve been.

It was interesting, the way certain of the flight crew treated the ships. Some were endeared but indifferent to their repairs while others hovered at each hole and tear, like over protective mothers, while you and your mates tried to do your jobs.

Why, one plane in the five assigned to your care was even named “Our Baby”. With such a moniker it made sense that its porcelain faced pilot would caress the shredded wing with a misty eyed frown at each wound, like it were a breathing thing, a race horse, a friend. You didn’t judge it, and he didn’t seem aware of his audience, he’d be back out there doing his own check up after debriefing. Never interrupting your work, always quick to step aside or duck out of the way of a ground crewman’s path, it wasn’t time to chatter or make introductions, although sometimes when the work took long and his reports longer, he’d be there to bid goodnight to you all, soft, American drawl saying “Goodnight, thank ya, goodnight, good work, thank ya” again and again to each.

You grew to recognize them, the ones each mission spared, there were so many and under hats and bundled in leather jackets they tended to blend together, but there were those who made their mark, if not on you then on Dorace in cartography and Eileen at the Red Cross. There was much tittering and speculation, after all, spread thin as their time was, there was also plenty of off time, made all the more charged and anxious as it came in the form of waiting for new orders. The men would be vibrating with nervous energy and generous in the flush of a recent victory and they took it out on the little villagers who in good British fashion took it on the chin and challenged them to a contest of good spirits.

Those were happy days, less anxious than the preceding ones and less heavy than those making up the year after. You dared be roped into the multiple pub crawls, often choosing the most sensible and quiet of the group as your victim and attaching yourself to their side for the evening. This tactic had its fallibility, sometimes those moderates were such a bore as to be unsupportable or hadn’t enough verve to make a full night of it and retired early like respectable, curfew-abiding saps. That’s how you found yourself one night ensconced in a beer pungent corner of Flaggen’s, green leather seats sticky under your palms, with Major Egan fanning out a wad of cash in front of you. It was a blatant attempt to bribe you to clear his aircraft sooner than the last inspection suggested.

“Suggestions” was Egan’s term for regulations.

If you were less tipsy you wouldn’t have giggled at the man’s idiocy, but his arm was heavy around your shoulders and this very cash had bought you one too many gin and tonics. “These regulations keep you alive!” You chided him, shaking your head and feeling the room tip as you did. Truly these Americans could hold their liquor, almost as well as the Polish Squadron when it came to a binge.

“A little flack isn’t gonna keep her down.” he scoffed, “I’ve been grounded for a week now-“

“-I don’t have the authority-“

“-and I’m not gonna sit here while Buck goes up and racks up his number!” Eagen was vehemently slurring and your drunken mind tried to process who Buck was, if not Egan himself.

“Aren’t you Bucky?” you asked, bewildered.

-Americans and their nicknames.

“Yeah.”

“So who’s Buck?” you concentrated very hard on the ancient coaster beneath your latest pint.

“It’s Buck! It’s Gale, Cleven, Major Gale Cleven!” Egan waxed louder and more dramatic with each addition. “You keep clearing his plane! But not mine! Why’s that, huh?”

“How do you know that?” you asked, dubious and only in the raucous of this little pub would his loud voice go unheeded. Compared to the ongoing dart game to the left behind the half wall, an elephant’s trumpeting would be considered bashful.

“ ‘Cause he tells me?” he replied, bewildered at your slowness, “Says you and your crew are little fairies, crawlin’ all over his plane and patching it up better than ever after each mission. And then you clear him. Simple as that.”

“I don’t have authority to clear anyone.” you repeated.

“Huh,” Egan grunted, “how’does he mean then?”

“I don’t know.” you replied firmly, “I doubt I’ve even got your plane, i don’t see you around.”

“I don’t stay around, that’s your job, patching up. I just fly the damn thing.”

“Oh, well.” you shrugged, “I’ve had five, it’s down to three after last mission.” Three years ago the mention of that ratio of losses would’ve sank your mood to the floorboards, by now it’s horrifically routine. “What’s yours called?”

“Mugwump.” he grinned proudly, a flash of white beneath his dark mustache, the man’s face positively shimmered with sweat.

“Serial?” you asked demurely, just to be difficult.

He squinted his eyes shut briefly, head tilted back as if to ask the heavens for help and the recited in a drill master’s staccato “42-30066, ma’am, yes ma’am.”

You giggled again and Egan’s arm jostled your shoulders, smushing you further into him. They were good fun, these boys, didn’t even mind your horrifyingly unflattering uniform with its bulging pockets adding bulk where your curves should take center stage and your stupid pleated cap making you look to be half baker, half doll. You preferred your plain navy coveralls but you’d hardly be let into an establishment in them. Egan’s warm arm didn’t seem to mind the excess poof of the material, he smashed it right down with his hand’s firm grip, he was fun, you decided, no harm in good fun. “Alas, not one of mine.” you sighed, focusing hard on the serial number.

“Damn.” he swore, playing at dejection.

“No,” you went on, “but I’ve got this one, a very spoiled one, maybe you know whose it is. They named it ‘Our Baby’!”

Poor manners and personnel etiquette though it was, you couldn’t say it without tittering.

Egan didn’t laugh, he just looked at you like you’d proved his point. “Yeah,” he replied vehemently, “That’s Buck Cleven’s!”

“Oooh.” -So it was him, the fighting cherub, the walking doughboy, toothpick, baby at wings: there were a dozen or more nicknames you and the ground crew gave the wing-petting Major behind his back. “He always says goodnight to us.” you said instead.

“Is that where he is when I wanna go for a drink?” Egan exclaimed, “Ha! You’d think he was married to the ole ship.”

“He handles her beautifully.” You feel oddly compelled to defend, he’s a master at flight and as someone who must repair each fault of his landings and his leavings and his missions, you feel some loyalty to his finesse. “He handles her so well.” you repeat in the tone of a woman who’s seen some aviation in her time, young though you may be.

“Well let me let you into a lil secret,” Egan smirks and you brace without knowing why, he is, after all, not the respectable and dull men you choose to go out with, he is the dangerous sort you bring those dullards along to deter, “shes the only ‘she’ that boy has ever ‘handled’ -if ya get my drift.”

The sleazy wag of his eyebrows leaves no room for ignorance, you feel your face heat up, wether in prudery for the topic or second hand embarrassment for his friend’s sake, you don’t know.

“Nothing wrong with that.” you reply coldy, only to distance yourself from the road his body language seemed to be hurtling you both down.

“Quite right. Nothin’ at all!” Egan agrees vehemently, his smile easy and his eyes clever “But I’d be a poor friend if I didn't try to remedy his predicament.”

“Telling me is somehow part of this remedy?” you were suspicious, rightfully so.

“Maybe.” Egan drawls it out, shifting in his seat to no longer corner you, his attention drawn to the nearby dart game. The man of the moment, the subject, the handler of planes and none else, was not here. He had such a luminous head of golden hair, it would be a beacon amongst the muddy haired crowd flinging darts. “The thing of it is, dear,” Egan confided, “I've had an absolutely marvelous time since I got here. And I think that’s rather essential, for sanity and for international relations, don’t you? I’ve gotten to know all sorts of wonderful people, lovely people like yourself-“

“-word is, you’ve known them a little too biblically, no wonder Cleven avoids your outings.” You could not help but temper him. “Half of Great Britain has had the privilege, if some are to be believed.”

“And so what if I have? I love dancin’!” he laughed quite happily at your barb and you didn’t have it in you to pull down any further a man who was sacrificing so much day in and out. “Getting to know Great Britain is a better occupation than pettin’ plane wings under the moonlight.”

You tittered again at his words and the oddly endearing memories you had of watching Major Ceven petting and whispering to his plane like she was his long-standing beloved, loitering ground crew unheeded. “He does do that.” you agreed.

“Hey, everyone’s got their method.” Egan insisted in his friend’s defense, “But I have told him, it’s good for the morale to mingle, even if he hates drinkin’.“

You pucker your face at that. “I know he mingles, Violet says he’s a doll when he goes to market.” you point out, small town chatter gets around and while you can’t say you know Cleven, you know he’s mild mannered and precious. And a terribly pretty face too, which isn’t fair, he oughta be an ass which a face that cute. “And he got a tan from somewhere last week.“

“Oh, so ya noticed!” Egan is triumphant, “A bunch of us used our day passes to go messin’ around in boats on the canals.”

“Good for you.” you didn’t know what else to say. “Why are we talking about him? What’s your point? I can ask for your plane to be transferred to my crew, but it won’t get you a sloppy clearance. And if your friend is so socially awkward he can’t even manage a pub night, you can hardly expect me to be flattered that you consider me prime material to throw at him.”

“He’s not awkward.” Egan cut to the chase quite serious, in mission mode, “Buck just had his hopes tangled up back home, and now he’s here he’s finding it hard to accept that hopes were all they were. She’s real moved on.” Well that had hurt, you winced in sympathy. “I warned him, everything during this war has got to be taken as a bit inpermanent. Don’t fall in love with Texas girls when you’re headed to England -via: Louisiana, Indiana, hell, by New York she’d stopped writing.”

“And now the texas girl has-“

“-found a Texan, I guess.” He shrugged and chugged the last of his pint. “She’s gettin’ married, it's really over. So, -“ he made a broad gesture as if to explain his reasoning for this entire segue. “-you like projects, you wouldn’t be in the line of work you’re in if ya didn’t, so whaddya say?”

You looked around the dimly lit pub in search of two things, sunny blonde hair and a clock to tell you how badly you were going to regret this night, come morning. “He’s not even here.” you balked.

“Well, no-“

“-what I say is,” you grinned at him disbelieving, “you owe me another gin and tonic for subjecting me to such inane chatter.”

His grin should have served as warning enough that he would neither drop the subject nor let you off free this evening. In fact, the ticking clock and its late curfew breaking hours became the least of your concerns come morning. The cool wash of bitter juniper blended into the pungent flow of beer, it blurred everything, soon there was a great swelling of pride for your native village, a pub crawl was on, all three visited and drank from, an army Jeep was requisitioned without authority, there was some incident regarding a policeman‘s helmet. The latter being the reason why you found yourself in “jail” the next morning, nursing a raging headache and questioning life decisions while glaring at John Egan’s polished boots.

There was very little talk about bail or Air Force hours being exceptioned, the more pressing concern to the Bobbies who had nabbed you was the coed holding cell. Thorpe Abbotts was a small place, after all, and you liked it that way. If this overly indulgent night could be kept away from the military police, all would be well.

You had one hope: Harry Crosby was sensibly absent from the holding cell, having a keen sense of when to depart from the raucous joyride at the precise moment to save himself a demerit. It was an extreme embarrassment to you that you’d not had the same sense. In fact, fond as you were of a bit of a knees up, you couldn’t quite credit the fact you had allowed yourself such free reign, or accomplished such foolishness. Glowering at Major Egan’s face now, animated with delighted chagrin at your shared plight as it was, you vowed to never again hook your fortunes to his, as it were.

Your resolve, and humiliation, was about to be compounded, exponentially.

There was a bustle of a visitor entering the precinct, easily heard in the small space, followed by the low hum of mild mannered conversation. It went on for sometime, and no amount of straining at the bars and cocking of ears would allow you, Egan or your fellow misfortunates to ascertain the gist of it. Violet’s husband was the main constable, and you were quite certain he’d be moderate in his sentence, he had his helmet back, after all. It was the Air Force penalty of not being on base in time this morning that you feared, a growing nausea that compounded the misery of your aching head. They’d not discharge Egan, they’d probably not even demote him, he was too crucial and he’d done this one too many times for it to be grace alone saving him. When he was needed, really needed, he was there. That’s what counted. The same could be said of you, but that hardly mattered given your low rank.

Violet’s husband, also known as constable Herbert, came in sight and with a jangle of keys and a tap to the side of his nose, swung open the bars of infamy and gestured for you and your fellow inmates to file out.

“All sorted.” He declared. His gaze lingered on you as it had many times in your life when you’d been caught jumping in puddles after church, “Let this be a lesson and a warning to you.”

You tried your best at both obeisance and penitence, both of which were rather natural feelings at the present time, while hurrying past as fast as was respectful, your approaching shift hours making your heart thump in panic.

On the steps outside, your savior was loitering against the wrought iron fence, thumbing at the petunias in the nearby window box. Gale Cleven was a mile long of lanky body in perfectly pressed and tailored Air Force greens, fresh faced as the good conscienced are, hair combed without his cap and a smile on his soft face that was composedly long suffering, rather than endeared, as he watched you miscreants pour out of the modest brick building.

You stumbled to a halt on the first step at the sight of him and allowed your instincts to take over, hands smoothing down hair and skirt with frantic self consciousness. You must’ve looked a rumple.

“I hope last night was worth it.” Cleven drawled in that voice of his, so oddly deep for so fresh a face, his placid smile growing into something more genuinely mirthful as Egan smooched at him in gratitude and swore that he knew his Buck wouldn’t abandon them, that his Buck would pull through for them. “I order a round of toothpaste for everyone and cold showers, you stink.” Gale shied away without any real effort, nodding in greeting to the boys he recognized.

Then, as if in the most painfully slow motion with all the strong string accompaniment of a silver screen scene, his eyes landed on you and an odd ache formed in your chest at the anticipation of his disapproval.

It made you tense and draw yourself up to your full height, looking about as regal as a drenched bantam in your disheveled dignity, but you weren’t about to be relegated to another tier than these boys he so amusedly indulged.

“Y’all know what time it is?” he asked mildy, those azure orbs with their batting dark fringe didn’t waver and you realized he indeed had more guts than you’d given him credit for.

There was a chorus of “no”s and various guesses based on the fast evaporating fog and the lightening sky.

“Zero five thirty.” he ended the suspense with the cock of an eyebrow at you.

“Shit!” Egan was suddenly animated, “Shit, shit-“

“Hey, you keep your swearin’ away from my sweet lil corporal.” Cleven chided, and it took you a brief moment to startle upon realizing he meant you. And he thought you sweet? “C’mon Miss,” he waved you down the steps and for some inexplicable reason you felt very compelled to obey and suddenly stood beneath his gaze like a dutiful child awaiting deliverance or censure, “I’ve only got this bike, petrol allotment ran out when we went to the canals last week. But it’ll get ya back faster than this lot. Reckon you can manage on the handlebar?”

“Wha-?“ you glanced sideways at the bike with its large, sweeping handlebars and second guessed his meaning until he himself was straddling it. His legs required the seat to be hiked up impossibly high and the narrow nip of his waist was accentuated by the posture. Those padded, fleece puffed jackets you had seen him in had done no credit to his form, a toothpick he may have been with how terribly lean he was, but he was firm in all the right places. He was also waiting on you to answer while you ogled him.

“Gosh yes, I can, if you’re sure? Awfully kind of you.” you blathered and moved in a hurry to make up for your stalling, keenly conscious of his eyes on your back as you shimmied your backside up onto his handlebars, feeling the warm press of his hand as he helped steady you from tipping all the way back. You wiggled on the thin metal bar, spreading your legs on either side of the front wheel and doing your best to ignore the raucous commentary of the still tipsy audience of your fellow inmates swaying on the precinct steps. “Y’all just be glad there’s no mission scheduled today.” he snarked to them instead and they chimed up that last night’s idiocy was calculated with that in mind.

“Huh.” Cleven uttered, unimpressed, behind you and it made you shiver, worse than if your father caught wind of this stunt. “Darlin’ put your hands over mine, s’gonna get wobbly takin’ off.” he directed next and you did as you were told, looking back over your shoulder at him with a grateful smile that you were relieved to see returned, pink lips stretching and a freckled nose bunching up sweetly when all of the sudden a rush caught you by surprise and the bike was in motion and you whipped your head back to view the street as it rushed up ahead of you. “See ya boys!” he hollered out as a mutinous babble rose from his friends at being left to jog back.

The young man could put some speed on a bike, uphill too. Or, as much of a hill as could be found this far East. You could hear him chuckle when you squeaked at the first jolt of a pothole, your thumbs hooking under his hands and curling into his palms. They were warm and calloused, dry from the cool breeze and you may have imagined the way he squeezed them in assaurance but you did not imagine the way his voice piped up again, smooth and conversational: “Harry told me if I was quick I could get you out in time, I think we’re gonna make it. S’dont worry, even if Sergeant Lemmons gives ya trouble, I’ll insist.”

“That’s really too kind of you.” The chill of windburn and a substantial amount of remorse made your cheeks glow scarlet. “All of it is. I’m rather ashamed.”

“I didn’t take you for an all nighter sort.” he agreed but followed it with a soothing compliment, “You’ve always been nothin’ but perfect. P-p-perfectly punctual, I mean, and there’s no reason to let Egan’s idea of fun ruin your record.”

“Wasn’t his fault. Not wholly.” you sighed, giving Violet a bashful wave as you passed her opening the shop, a wave which Cleven mirrored behind you and between the two of you letting go the bike, it nearly dumped you both. It was luck and sheer persistence that righted you and kept your balance. “I’m afraid it’s a bit of a bad habit, picked it up at Northolt.”

“Where’s that?” he asked.

“South, by the coast.” you said, unsure why you felt the need to explain your debauchery away, “I was working a ground crew down there for a bunch of Polish Pilots. Spitfires mainly. That squadron nabbed the most kills of any in the RAF back in ‘40. Why, even Churchill visited more times than I can count, he found them good fun. Too much fun, they never went to bed without downing half a barrel. There was dice built into the bottom of the pints at the Black Bull, rather addictive, rolling to see who would buy the next round. —There was always a next.” You added upon reflection.

That was also the year you had lost your brother. The correlation between the habit and the loss wasn’t to be dwelt on.

“Huh,” Cleven let out one of him contemplative hums, “and how do we compare?” he asked surprisingly.

“How?” you laughed, daring to crane your neck back to see him in the early morning sunshine, pretty and sweet and arch in his expression. Dusk had not done his mama’s work on his face any justice, it made you want to pant he was so pretty.

“I dunno, in any way,” he laughed in turn, not even breathless as he sped the bike over the cobblestones, the village barely awake and mostly quiet, “how do we compare?”

“To the Poles?”

“Or the French. Or your own, the RAF ain’t no joke.” he amended, “Whoever is our competition.”

“So it is a competition.” you smirked -how very American of him. “Depends,” you hedged playfully, “Our boys are so very nice, familiar, they never run out the right coinage during a date either. But the French are better flirts while the Dutch are better dancers. But the Poles, they know how to romance. Lots of hand kissing and flowers, so many flowers there had to be rules made for overstocking the billet.”

“Sounds like we gotta step up our game.” he decided.

“Is that what you meant? How you compare? First impressions?”

“I-I- guess, yeah.” he now sounded confused, “I mean, what else? You got scores for aircraft?”

“I do.” you replied, as it was true, “But that’s unfair, you’ve only just arrived. I thought maybe you wanted to know something more -salacious.”

“Like?” His tone behind you was guarded and you doubted if the alcohol of last night were not still buzzing and fortifying your brazenness, that you’d ever go through with what you said next.

“Other performances. For instance, in bed.”

You felt his fingers flutter around the bars beneath your own, you gripped them tighter, not just because the stretch of old road before the air base was ancient and pitted but because you were in an agony of suspense as to how he’d take your forwardness.

“There’s a record of that somewhere?” he asked at last, a beat too long, too delayed for casualness, too morose for flippancy.

“In fact there is.” you responded carefully. “A little diary of rankings, actually, there’s multiple and whenever there’s a grand assembly of the WAAF or the WACs, they’re passed about and tallied.”

“Sweet Jesus.” he swore behind you, “And here I’ve been chalkin’ up railways and munition dump targets like they’re some achievement.”

“Oh it’s all a bit of silliness.” You assured, not intending to make him glum.

“Do-“ he hesitated and you prayed for strength for him to spit it out as the airfield came in sight on the flat plain ahead. He didn’t.

“-Do I what?” you prodded softly.

“Are one of these little tallies yours?” he asked miserably.

You grinned to yourself and felt the sunshine seemed brighter and the air crisper than ever before as it rushed in your face with the slowing speed of his bike. “No, not in the least. I merely keep track of Sally’s ledger. It’s all a bit too -messy, for me.”

You dared peak behind you again and he looked relieved, then blushed furiously at your observance of him. “Well, who does Sally say is winning?” he dared.

“Romania.” you chortled and he did too, in shock if nothing else. “But Egan’s caught wind of it, he’s quite determined to save your country’s dominance, you don’t need to sweat it.”

His frown was back and you had to focus on not falling off as he slowed the bike to a halt, momentum precarious as his long legs kicked out and walked it the last yard to the segregated barracks, you felt his hand again on your waist to steady you. “Does that bother you?” he asked earnestly, sorrow in his blue eyes.

He offered a hand for you as you hopped down and it was you who held onto it long after it was needed. “Bother me?”

“Yeah, him -consortin’…with Sally?” he pressed, hands quite engulfing your one, “Does it hurt you? Bucky, see, he doesn’t mean to hurt, he’s just so-“

“-Blimey, you are a dear.” you marveled and then amended your interruption as your amusement only further creased that sweet face, “If I am ever again in Major Egan’s company, it will only be to escape it just as quickly. I’ve had quite enough of…consorting.”

“That so?” The lackadaisical confidence he exhibited outside of the precinct was back again, a not unattractive smirk plastered on his vulnerable face, a scheme in his guileless eyes. “Had enough of holding cells?”

“Quite.” you smirked back. “A quiet family dinner is more my style, the occasional picnic, even a zip round Oxford as one must show the foreigners about.” you paused and squeezed his hand once more, “And I do enjoy a bike ride.”

You did not know if he cataloged your preferences for an ideal date or not, life was busy, after all, and the momentary frolics in the July sunshine and banter on the tarmac and evenings in the pub were the exception. Time went on. Most of life was spent in the air, in his case, and in yours, beneath the belly of his beast, wrench in hand. But ever after his gallant rescue of you, there was more than the passing “goodnight” paid to you, there were cheerful smiles on his exhausted face when he returned from a mission, as if you were the one face he was coming back to. With an old familiar dread you noticed the way you begin to take each hole and dent and damage to his plane personally, as if it had been exacted on something precious to you. You have begun to care, for him and for his men, and your tired heart could barely do more than dread what that might lead to.

Good fun. That’s what these boys were supposed to be.

Gale Cleven hadn’t proven much fun. And somehow that was worse. It was worse and also unbearably honoring to be the last face he saw before taking it off, flags in your hands waving in front of his hulking bomber, giving the old familiar directions for a perfect takeoff, one he executed sublimely time and again. His sober, purposeful nods to you before he engaged and taxied out for a mission of death was more intense and intimate than any bouquet or even, your thought, a kiss. It was true the donut dollies on the sidelines were often the last faces of home that many of those boys would see. But in the his cockpit, looking down at your shrimp sized figure on the tarmac, both Major Cleven and you knew that for him, it was yours.

Once, there was a scare, in the first days of august. More than a scare if you were being honest, your heartbeat about stopped and didn’t pick back up for a few hours until word came in. The rest of the base wasn’t much better.

Ten planes had not come back. -Among them, Our Baby. And Mugwump. For two officers, so crucial, so senior, idolized and beloved as they were, to not return, was a blow like none other. You weren’t alone in hovering around the control shack, taking license of your friendship with Dorace to get a play by play of any news. When news came, such as it was, it was both relieving and exasperating.

It would seem there was some problem, a defect or too great of a hit. Orders to land in enemy territory were ignored, however, by Cleven no less. He had doggedly pushed on, safely landing them in allied Africa, of all places. It took almost a day for this information to finally be pasted together, by the end of it you were sad, haggard and half useless in your coveralls, stupendously relieved for a man you were supposed to feel professionally about.

Instead, that night, tucked in your own bed after a meal with your parents and little brother, you thanked God for keeping him -them, all of them- safe. And found yourself pondering the tan on him when he got back from his African foray. Some jealous part of you feared he might be kept there but a week later the thunderous hum of approaching bombers buzzed the air overhead of Thorpe Abbotts and the satisfying thwump of wheels touching down brought them back. There was a frenzy of greetings, flight and ground crew eager to welcome them back, the radio operators, too, and even the civilians who’d managed to get on base.

Your little brother among them. Donald wanted to see them back safe and it wasn’t dangerous, and it wasn’t dire, not returning from a mission the planes wouldn’t be in such poor shape. They’d been repaired in Africa, enough to fly them all the way back to England. So little Donald was nearby and when the crowd parted and a bee-line for Cleven became apparent, he took advantage and gave the young man a firm handshake in greeting.

“Hey buddy, thank ya, who do you belong to?” Buck laughed while returning the firm grip.

“I’m her brother.” Donald pointed you out proudly among the dispersing crowd and you rolled your eyes at his expectancy for Gale to know or care about you, more than your most pertinent work on base.

“Oh are ya now, hers, huh?” he grinned at you, “Been talkin’ about me?” he greeted, there was a still healing scrape on his left temple that your fingers itched to soothe. How badly had he hit his head?

“Of course I have.” you defended, happiness bubbling under your lips and threatening to make you smile more than was professional, you could see Sergeant Lemmons observing you from the side and tried to keep some decorum. “We thought you’d died.” You stated plainly, it wasn’t any secret to Donald, as soon as the plane had gone missing and before radio contact had been reestablished, you’d rushed home and made the family pray over supper.

“We’ve been praying for you.” Donald agreed, and you saw Cleven startle, a gasped intake of breath between those lush lips and his eyes seemed to water as he searched first your brother’s face and then your own.

“You have?” he choked out, raspy and touched.

“Yes.” you whispered, mouth twisting in a ugly grimace to hold back your own emotion. It was of little use, something beyond War Effort investment in his well being had been admitted. “We thought you might be dea-“

-you didn’t finish your reiteration of your dread. Your face, a greasy and mist spattered face, was suddenly smushed into the padded leather of his bomber jacket, nose tucked right into the fleece apex where his pale blue scarf always rested on his throat.

He was hugging you, you realized with delayed surprise.

“-even though it made the potatoes cold, Da insisted on prayin’ every night after she told us-“ Donald was waxing eloquent on his own sacrifices of having one added prayer request lengthening his mealtime but you were oblivious to more than the firm press of Cleven’s still gloved hand to the back of your scarf wrapped head, some strong emotion shuddering through his body against your own. A tremor of terror and pain, you suspected, emotions he’d been suppressing all week.

After all, the saved weren’t supposed to be shaken up. They’d been saved, what was there to be off about? You’d seen enough pilots after a close call to know it was every bit as bad or worse than actual disaster. They’d send him right back up again in days, and that was what was expected, demanded, required. He was tremoring against you and you gripped him tighter, sympathetic and aching to cure it somehow. Even for a moment.

“We’ll keep praying.” you assured, and you heard him clear his throat, snotty and rough. “Oh, blast, I’ve positively greased your jacket.” you mourned as he let you go, finally, and you caught sight of the mess your filthy hands and face had imprinted on it during the embrace.

He chuckled as he looked down at the imprint, “S’fine.”

After such an exchange of emotion the air felt charged between you two, without privacy or precedence, it felt unthinkable to linger in that mood. You turned to his plane and pet the fuselage with unstudied fondness, it had been horrid having the old bird absent. You were not above having favorites and the love he poured into his ship, somehow, like some old fairytale truism, made the hulking metal beast lovable, in turn. “How’s our baby, hmm?” you asked him, giving him a sly smile and he took your proffered out seamlessly, joining you in cataloging the damage that had not been deemed severe enough to hamper his return.

“Don’t crawl under here, sir!” you protested as you wiggled under the belly only to find him beside you in the plane’s shadow, “You’ll be a mess!”

“I’ve already got stains.” he brushed your worries off, and you knew it was true. Bloodstains in fact. He had lost a man, the report said, and apparently, judging by his trousers, Buck had held the poor fellow as he bled out. “And I wanna show you the spot I’m worried ‘bout.”

“Alright.” you conceded, allowing him to direct you to the nose. “Watch it Donald!” you had to reprimand your little brother who predictably followed after, “You’ll burn yourself if you touch that, this thing was just running.”

“Careful buddy.” Gale echoed gently beside you and pushed his little head down, more into a crawl. You refused to allow the gentle way he treated the brat to warm you, you refused. Or at least, you refused to let it show, the tingle and heat you felt being all too consuming to be denied.

He was lovely. But you already knew that. He was even more lovely when, upon crawling out from under Our Baby, he took his scarf from around his neck, silk decadently soft, flesh warmed and smelling strongly of his exertions, and swiped it across your greased cheek.

“You’ve got just a lil more…” he practically mumbled and wiped down to your chin, firm, gentle little rubs of the silk which required his other hand to grasp your chin to steady you. You weren’t sure when he’d taken off his gloves, but the feel of his skin on yours was heady.

“It’ll take a couple days.” You predicted regarding the repairs, “Which means you’ll have a few days free, if they don’t drown you in reports.”

“Oh they will.” he laughed, “But s’long as my days are free, means yours aren’t.” he pointed out.

“I guess that’s true.”

“We shoulda thought of that when we chose this line of work.” he joked and your cheeks flamed at the realization he wished to spend time with you. “But you’ll have your nights still, yeah?”

Coming from anyone else, the request for your nights to be reserved would strike you as suggestive indeed. But this was Buck, and when he mentioned nights you imagined nothing but taking him home for a tepid potato and rationed powdered milk supper and the warm reception of your family. His weary eyes suggested how badly he needed that. You could give it to him, and it made your heart glow.

“Yes, I’ll have my nights.” you agreed, “And you can have them, too.”

Sergeant Lemmons agreed with your estimation of Our Baby’s damage the following day and four long days after were spent patching up damage that suggested what a hellish ride that must’ve been. Someone else hosed the blood out of the bay but it turned the puddle on the concrete beside you sickly pink.

To and fro from office to barracks to observation tower, Cleven would stop by to see his ‘baby’ on these occasions. The heckling the ground crew gave you regarding this potential double meaning was agonizing and almost made his attentions not worth it. But then he’d be dropping to a squat to chat with you as you soldered metal, heedless of the sparks, or else bringing scones from the mess to refresh you and, again, wiping your face often with his fancy scarves despite your protests that it was futile.

And at night, on the second day, you made good on yours and Donald’s word and brought him to dinner. It was a quiet walk from the base to the end of the long main road, right to the outskirts of the village, where your family’s unassuming little thatched cottage nestled amongst mama’s victory garden, daddy’s aeroplane hanger and repair shop loomed ugly and dark behind.

The look on Buck’s face when you met him outside the base’s gate at seven in the evening in a dress and heels was worth capturing. But you hadn’t a camera with you and it wasn’t like you were liable to forget. His pure look of awe and appreciation for your cleaned up and girlish state was nearly comic if it weren’t so flattering.

“Darlin-“ he began in a rush but did not finish, only taking you lightly by the fingertips and spinning you slowly, his eyes wide like he was seeing a marvel, which, maybe he was, -your womanly form finally liberated from puffy uniforms and ugly coveralls. Wholesome as your intentions were for the evening, and indeed for him in general, it was some relief and delight to know he was capable of getting hot under the collar. His mama’s well drilled manners soon caught up to his unbridled appreciation and a deluge of charmingly proper compliments rained down on you next until you had to put a stop to his babble by tugging him down the road with the reminder of dinner as incentive.

“You’re sure they won’t mind?” he began his worries again, nervous to meet your parents.

If he’d been like the rest of the boys he’d know just how much mingling was already common. It wasn’t remotely odd to bring him home, not when you lived so near. “Don’t be silly, they’ve been begging to meet you and Donald has plans of torturing you with his plane models and Papa wants to show you his shop and mama thinks you're much too skinny, I’m sure she’s gone to the black market to grab something to fatten you-“

“-how’s she know that?” he interrupted in shock.

“Oh,” you flushed, realizing your misstep, “I’ve talked of you. And she recognized you, she and Violet are thick as thieves and -it’s not like you’re unremarkable. A physical description is rather easy to give when you, well, when you look like…you.”

“What do I look like?” he cried out but his cheeks were smiling despite his outrage, “Malnourished?”

“Like a lanky cherub.” you refuted and were pleased that the late summer sun was still bright enough at this long hour to show his pretty blush.

“A cherub.” he repeated in disbelief.

“Yes.” you were firm, both in tone and the press of your hand in the crook of his offered elbow, “And as we’ve been commended to entertain angels unaware, how much more when we are certain of one?”

“Oh shut up.” he begged you and you two staggered into each other as you laughed your hearts out. It felt good to laugh, for the both of you, and a little too foreign, as well. It left a hollow melancholy in its wake that was soothed by the near and swaying proximity of each other’s body.

“They’ll be glad to have you at the table.” you dared go on, feeling you should prepare him, should the subject arise, “I’ve a brother, you see, an older brother. Rafe, he was stationed in Burma. We’ve not heard of him in over two years. There’s an empty seat at our table, it takes a certain sort of soul to fill it without it feeling like a sacrilege. But you fit the bill nicely, I think.”

“Burma.” he repeated with all the gravity of a man who understood, who knew the ache of almost hoping a dear brother, a beloved son, was dead rather than enduring the slow hell of a Japanese internment camp. How awful to almost wish for a decisive end for one so loved. “No word at all?”

“None.”

“I’m terribly sorry.”

“Thank you.” you whispered, “And thanks for making it back, yourself.” you squeezed his arm jovially and felt his other hand fall atop yours there in the crook of his elbow and a sweetness filled you at the gesture, such as you’d never known before. It was peaceful and lovely and your little village suddenly looked as pretty and idyllic again as it was always supposed to, the routine route home was seen through his eyes, the eyes of a homesick boy with a soft girl on his arm, bound to meet her parents and inspect Donald’s plane models.

Your mother and father loved him, little surprise there, he was a darling and homesick and yours was a happy home, humble and wounded though it may be. Your mother was obnoxious in her delight the moment father took him out back to see where your expertise for welding first began, the little aerodrome, no longer fitted with pleasure craft but now fitted to scrap the more useless casualties. Mother pestered you as you helped clear the table, asking after him and whatever this thing was between you. When you assured her it was only dinner to fill that chair and some unfathomable knowledge that had grown each time you stood before his propeller and waved him off to death, she knew it for what it is.

War and the urgency of living that goes with it, shrinks long emotions into fast passion and steady hearts into foolish daring. Neither of you were the sort to tumble into the passing vogue passions that had seized hold of your friends and comrades. Yours was a quieter path. Even so, after the fourth evening of dinner rations and quiet fireside chatter and the patter of late summer rain on the roof, there was a kiss as he walked you back to base, his jacket over your shoulders, his shirt clinging to him and the sweetest intent etched on his misted features as his lips descended to yours.

“Thank you,” he had said so passionately yet so subdued, a wall of wisteria at your back and his honey blonde hair dripping into his eyes, “I’ve needed this bad.”

His words suggested the family dinners, his scorching lips suggested the molded flesh of your body in his large palms.

“So you’ve wanted this?” your breathed mixed, a hazy little cloud between you in the damp evening air, your little alcove of shelter from the rain under old Mosley’s shed was like another little world entirely, fauna filled and peaceful, even the ever present drone of machinery was drowned out by the downpour.

Your mother had been right, you should've waited longer till the clouds passed but you had both cited curfew -and maybe even subconsciously sought just such a predicament as the one that had you necking Gale Cleven in a wisteria claimed tool shed.

“I’ve wanted you.” he clarified, firm grip on the base of your neck punctuating his turmoil, his lips met yours again and whatever oath of abstinence he had chosen, it did not seem to include kissing. He was soft and persistent and all consuming, those restless hands migrating in an ever mapping caress, making every part of you thrum with butterflies. “Wanted you for a long while.” he spoke into your lips, “I think you’re just great.” And there was happiness then, untinged with anything temporal beyond the feel of warm flesh beneath cold, rain soaked cloth and lips that tasted of honeyed biscuits.

It was impossible to maintain the stoic propriety of behavior you’d once managed before, on base, after that. You knew now how he sounded when he moaned into your mouth and he his stare alone could make you blush, you had spoken to his mother on the phone and he had seen your childhood bedroom. He learned once, laying amongst sea grass on the beach during a cloudy Sunday, the silky moist feel of you beneath your swimsuit, his long, bashful fingers that were ever so fond of petting anything and everything, finally finding a place that responded to his swipes with jolts and gasps and sighs and pleasure. You peaked three times on that sand dune, Buck none the wiser as he had nothing to compare your little deaths to, you kept a firm grip on his forearm and told him he was doing marvelous and that’s all it took for him to be persistent. Persistent beyond what you imagined any other man could be due to cramp. He was getting freckles from so much sunshine, but it was well, the rains would be here soon come autumn.

These happy days had you risking your life to pause your work and watch his pretty form swagger across the asphalt to his next destination and he, ever so right and proper and by the book, became devil enough to lie in wait for you and catch you by the waist when you least suspected it and drag you into some abandoned corner.

Only to kiss you.

To kiss and to ask after your day, as if your evening was not to be spent sat beside him at table or the movies, lying on a picnic blanket with him near or in the back of a jeep on top of Mayberry Rise, the tallest point around where the stars ran into the sea on the horizon.

One of the first days of September, you made good on your promise to Harry and drove with him to muck about Oxford for a day and see the college, the library, too. It was a long ride and as you were at the wheel, Harry was gem enough to allow Gale along, too, and by the end of it, driving back late and in a rush before the headlights would be needed, you were quoting favorite literary passages to each other. As if you were all students, not misplaced youths in the business of killing.

You said as much and in the burgeoning gloom Gale’s rich voice asked if you knew any Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

“Not Wordsworth!” Harry clarified.

“No, I don’t.” You admitted, for all your chiding today of their not being cultured enough, you didn’t know your American writers as you should.

“He’s got a poem for that.” Gale said, “For what you said. Or at least, it makes me think of today -that verse, ‘member Crosby?- the one it goes:

-I remember the gleams and glooms that dart across the school-boy's brain; The song and the silence in the heart, That in part are prophecies, and in part, Are longings wild and vain. And the voice of that fitful song, Sings on, and is never still: "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

The deafening silence for the rest of the car ride was filled with truth and your own heart was heavy when you bid them both goodnight that evening, headed to your seperate billets. You paused in you departure to turn back once more at the door and holler to Buck in the chilled September air, “That poem, is there more of it?”

“Lots more.” he’d spun round on his heel, pleasantly surprised at your inquiry.

“What’s it called?” you intended to search it out, though it was doubtful that a copy would be found near this remote place.

“How about I write it out for ya?” he suggested as if thinking the same.

“You’ve got a whole damn poem memorized?” you balked, incredulity warring with amusement that you should’ve guessed he’d be the sort.

“I-I-I might.” he stuttered before laughing.

“Then please do.” you grinned and threw him a kiss across the distance which he jumped up and caught from the air in a grand show of dedication. “Goodnight, cherub.” you wished him, “Sleep tight.” He had a mission in the morning, a daylight one.

“Goodnight old Bean.” He teased your accent and the door swung shut behind you blocking out the cold and the retreating sound of his footsteps.

If you’d have known that was the last time you’d hear them you’d have stayed an age out in the cold night listening to him go, memorizing the cadence of his gait, the sway of his shoulders disappearing into the twilight, the turn of his head as he’d throw a glance back at you, sweet and handsome and cheerful despite his ominous itinerary.

If you’d have only known.

It wasn’t like last time, like Africa. There had been no loss of contact. Dorace had heard every awful minute until the clock ran out. They’d been shredded, their precious ship turned into a raging inferno and Major Cleven’s gritted and garbled transmissions left only one hope that some at least had jumped out. Jumped out only to land in Nazi occupied Europe, it was a faint mercy to cling to.

The empty chair sat next to you again at the table and mocked you all. Mocked your hope and your resilience to dare love again. How foolish to bring home a man who belonged to a group they were calling “Bloody”, and not as a curse but an epithet.

The losses had been staggering all summer and now in September they hit close. You were confident that Crosby and Egan were every bit as dismal inside as you felt, Egan’s warm hand had clasped your shoulder like you were a fellow officer and told you he was sorry. You took the condolences and gave them back, a stupid little exchange that only highlighted how unspeakable some pain is.

Three weeks later, Egan’s plane didn’t come back either.

In your more fanciful moments you allowed yourself to imagine Egan and Cleven alive, somewhat whole and reunited. You could almost hear Cleven’s joking welcome, “What took you so long, Bucky?”

You’d indulged these fancies for Rafe, too, until years of silence suggested the worst.

However, this time, well into October and with an entirely new set of planes under your care, word came at last through the Red Cross, and the truth was exactly as you’d dreamed. There was only the paltriest letter back to command but it said they were well, they were alive, together indeed and being moved to the Polish border. Away from their own comrades' bombs. It was more than most ever got, and your family celebrated the news with the gratitude it deserved.

As October turned to November and your gloved fingertips froze as you worked, every sharp needle of chill reminded you of him, how much more awful it must be that far north, snow piled deep and muck everywhere and lice covered blankets and illness left untreated. As the holidays hurtled nearer, days of peace and goodwill you had planned to be spent with him, you were consumed by the dread of losing him to the elements since war had proven too clement. At night you lay abed and reread the one bit of handwriting you had from him, that damned poem he had written out, left under your door in the early dawn that had taken him from you.

My lost youth. That was the title of the thing. It cut like glass every time you read it, but Buck had touched that paper and looped those letters and dotted those i’s and it was precious to you. It became a prayer of sorts.

“There are things of which I may not speak;

There are dreams that cannot die;

There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak,

And bring a pallor into the cheek,

And a mist before the eye.

And the words of that fatal song

Come over me like a chill:—

“A boy’s will is the wind’s will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.”

Strange to me now are the forms I meet

When I visit the dear old town;

But the native air is pure and sweet,

And the trees that o’ershadow each well-known street,

As they balance up and down,

Are singing the beautiful song,

Are sighing and whispering still:—

“A boy’s will is the wind’s will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.”

Then, in January, as if prayers got heard, the most unexpected happened.

Major Gale Cleven, what was left of him after cold, starvation, murder and a treck across Europe, had returned. Things like this, seeing your lost beloved ride up to your workplace in the shotgun seat of a jeep, was the stuff of movies, hopeful propaganda or a woman’s mind that had finally cracked. You just stood there, welding helmet in hand, frozen rain spitting down at you, watching him jump out, watching Harry tear down from the observation tower to embrace him.

Dully, you could hear behind you Segreant Lemmons kind cheer of “so it was true, he got away from the bastards!” and a congratulatory thump between your shoulder blades. It was a moment of truth, to realize how far your faith had dwindled when the very answer to your prayers stood steaming with life in the cold air and yet you still could not accept it as reality.

“Baby.” his hands were warm compared to your damp cheeks and the span of them, so familiar and large, cupping your jaw with the calloused thumbs swiping at your temples, that was reminiscent of August and of happier days. Yet still, you had dreamed of him doing this, dreamed of a million different embraces and each time you woke up. “Baby, I’m back, I came to ya.” his voice was wrecked, from disuse and illness and whatever misery that had subjected him to. That, that was real enough, the rattling cough more so, you’d imagined his suffering in your worst nightmares too, this was something you could believe.

Familiar flesh was gaunt under your touch, gray cheeks where once there’d been freckles and the sinful pout of his once ruby red mouth was a dull violet, as if the vitality had been leached out of him. “What’d they do to my cherub?” you mourned, worst nightmares and wildest hopes blending into this one moment.

“Don’t cry, don’t cry f’me, I’m back. I came back.” he cooed to you, rough and sad himself, and your face was buried again in the placard of his coat, a great woolen overcoat this time, no fleece or any vestige of the swanky finery that got the flyboys ribbed for being soft, fancy, spoiled.

Nothing soft about these men, nothing gentle about their lot, nothing glamorous about being hurled down from the skies in a ball of fire.

“We kept praying for you.” you realized, it seemed important to tell him that however hopeless you all had felt, you’d gone through the motions anyway.

That was faith, wasn’t it? The hope of things not seen?

“I felt ‘em.” he said. “How else you think I managed it?”

It. -had managed it, that tiny word represented a host of terrors and miseries and unforgettable incidents that ricocheted in his brain like the lead fired into his boys head’s when they couldn’t manage a forced march, barefoot and underfed, in the snow.

Christmas had passed but January was not so very advanced, that evening your family turned back the clock and it was a matter of guessing as to who was celebrated more, baby Jesus or Buck Cleven. The two seemed intertwined at this point and in the warm glow of gas lamps and rationed toddy, with Buck’s hollow cheeks beginning to bloom and his dull eyes starting to animate, some part of you finally understood why so many felt worshipful on the holiday. The shit war rations felt like a feast, mama’s canned vegetables being the freshest thing he’d eaten in ages and with him sat at table again, empty chair filled, his hand creeping into your lap to lace with your own, there was peace.

Even the airforce, hard driving and high demanding though it was, took one look at his battered condition and admitted a period of conveyance was due. It wouldn’t do to send up a shoddy pilot, lose another plane, yet another crew or a hero of the hundredth. It’s not every day one of your squadron leaders escapes a POW camp and marches over occupied Europe and fordes the Channel to get back home.

A month was set aside. And you took as many weekday passes as you could during that month, happier than anything that he had been permitted to stay in town, to lodge with one of the locals. Rafe’s room was now occupied by him and mama’s broth was poured down Gale’s throat twice daily and his days kept busy with paperwork and Donald’s math problems. The ticking clock, the passing days, like the evil crocodile gobbling up time, was politely and britishly ignored in favor of enjoying what was. You no longer slept with the tear stained and crumpled poem clasped to your throat but his head lay there often enough instead. The thump of your heart helping him sleep, because exhausted and sick as he was, sleep and solitude were not comforts.

He was wracked with guilt for leaving Egan and his men behind, it had been every man for himself during that brutal forced march, he knew that and yet he’d left a friend behind. Buck waited for news of Egan like you’d waited for news of him. Nameless and senseless guilt ruining much of his own success and peace.

“He’d have expected nothing less of you.” you had taken to reminding him, “He’d be angry if you hadn’t taken the opportunity like you did.”

“I know.” he agreed miserably.

You admitted to him then, the horrid guilt of feeling that somehow, some missed defect or some lousy flaw had been the reason he’d been downed. Your work somehow not sufficient to keep him in the skies. When you’d admitted as much, Sergeant Lemmons had looked at you with all the censure such moronic introspection deserved: “Cleven got bombed to hell. He expected it, daytime raid and all. Blame the Nazis.”

“Blame the Nazis.” you suggested now to Gale as he lay sprawled in your arms, sweaty and feverish but his color was back and he looked pretty as anything so alive and near.

He looked ready to dare something, his face hovering nearer yours and the heavy weight of his limbs suddenly feeling full of intent but then his sparkling eye caught sight of something in the doorway and his lips quirked and his body shifted away.

“Whatcha doin’ sulkin’ out there Donny?” he addressed your brother and sure enough the little scamp emerged from the shadow of the doorway and joined you two on the bed, comic book clutched in his hands. They had a routine, apparently, Papa was no longer the chosen one for bedtime stories. It made you want to wince in anticipation for when Buck would move back to base and things would become full of dread again.

That day came sooner than you’d counted on. A month is not so very long, after all, and it was filled with so much work and business, stolen moments at home hardly being the norm.

“It’s an easy mission.” he’d said at dinner, as if arguing the point to you all. You knew he was trying to convince himself more than anything and so you all let him specify just how easy, how routine, how utterly unworrying tomorrow's flight would -should- be.

If it’s hard to get back into the saddle after being bucked off, how much worse to climb back into a plane after being tossed from the skies.

That evening he lounged on your bed instead of Rafe’s, the house emptied as your mother and father took Donny to the movies, the appeal of a new film finally showing cited as being too alluring to resist. He was lost in his thoughts, watching you go about your little evening routines that you tried to maintain when at home. It was domestic and cozy, warm where the world outside was cold and then there was Buck, golden as anything in the low lamp light, utterly unaware of the figure he cut lying on his side.

“I’ve missed it.” he told you, “Flying, I’ve missed it.”

“Of course you have. You were born for it.” you murmured.

“Ya know,” he reflected, “I signed up for the Air Force before it all got hot, before Pearl Harbor. I was gonna fly no matter what. I remember grittin’ my teeth durin’ training and tellin’ myself it would all be worth it. Just hang in there and it would pay off. I just felt something important would need me. Hell, guess I got more than I ever bargained for, didn’t I?”

“I guess you did.” you agreed.

“I couldn’t do this if I didn’t believe in it.” He insisted and you knew he was talking to himself again, until his face turned towards yours and the softest look of fondness crossed features turning them almost pained when he said next, “I couldn’t do it, get back up there, if it weren’t for love. The rightness of it but -love, for my boys, my family. For you.”

“I know, and we’re terribly lucky to have your devotion. -And…and I love you, too.” you vowed earnestly, then giggled at the absurdity of this being the first time to admit it.

“I’d had my suspicions.” he grinned back, some of that old cockiness returning along with his vigor as he snagged your wrist and pulled you down beside him.

“Do you know why my parents have gone?” you asked him pointedly, turning on your side to face him.

“To see a movie.” His face was so innocently perplexed you almost lost control of yourself and ruined the game right then with something terribly forward.

“My parents aren’t in the habit of seeing movies.” you corrected him soberly.

“No?”

“No.”

“So where’d they go?” Buck asked.

“Oh they’re at the movies.” you smirked, “But they’ve gone for us.”

Gale’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, if not of you then of his own naïveté. “For us.” he repeated and his voice had dropped an octave in the interim.

“Yes. Something about wanting us to have a goodbye.” you quoted.

“I’m not dying tomorrow.” he pointed his finger firmly in your face and it made you smile to see him so fiesty again.

“No,” you agreed with his prophecy, “but I wanted to give you some incentive to hurry back.”

“Oh?” those lips of his puckered again in confusion before his smarts caught up with him and the pink corner tugged up in mischief, “Ooooh.” he repeated, suddenly very close, his energy, his body, his heart, inches from being one with you. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, oh yes.” you confirmed, slotting your lips against his gently only to be met with eager, desperate need in his own kisses.

Your childhood bed was narrow and the counterpane below you familiar and dear, stitched by your mother in colors you’d once wished to update upon entering maturity. Now, laid out in perfect security and familiarity, you watched Buck Cleven dangle a toe off the abyss before diving in, pausing to caress the blanket beside your hip, smiling to himself.

“What?” you were breathless to know every thought in that dear head.

“My mama made me one, looks lots like this.” his eyes were watery soft yet his smile was glad, his hips narrow and sharp in the cradle of your own, stark hipbones not yet padded by your mother’s cooking pressed you down into the bedding, grounded and right. “You’ve made me real at home here.” he whispered and it pleased you ever so much. “Do I dare take this last liberty?” he muttered as if to himself, even as those blue orbs bore into your own, his fingers fiddling with the hem of your skirt and you ached from need long deferred and the weight of remedy lying heavy between your thighs.

“It’s no liberty,” you whispered, catching his dog tags and bringing his face to yours, the size of the man so very apparent now he was hovering above you, “it’s yours.” you watched his pupils blow out at the statement, his ragged breath fanned minty across your face, even angels wield swords. “I’m yours.”

“And I’m yours.” he concluded.

With that exchange of truths something snapped between you, like a ribbon cut, gone was the hesitant cordiality and deference that had marked your courtship. Here now was fierce possession and the gloated satisfaction of those who possess something cherished and are no longer kept from partaking of it, buckles and garters snapped in the quiet room and the rustle of sheets and shirts wafting to the floor made your breaths hitch with anticipation. Precious flesh came into touch with every brush and it was enough for many minutes merely to cling and grasp, imprinting desire into the back and the arms and the throat of each other, like an armor of love against the decay of death.

“Yours, yours.” you swore as his finger played you once more, his breathing hard and rough in your ear, harsh commands for you to say it again and again, reminding you he was fearsome when he wanted to be.

“Don’t look,” he begged when you realized through a haze of joy what he was about, pressing in with all the finesse of a cricket bat knocking at the wicket, hoarse and doe eyed above you, there was only the whine, “please, darlin’ don’t look, just, my eyes, please.”

It was a fumbling entry but nature and pleasure prevailed, as it had since the first couple. And dear boy that he was, he knew you had indulged in a leg up, one or two at least, before he came along but still, he could not bear it for you to see more, not this time. He wanted it just to be the kisses and the sight of your precious face contorting at the fullness of your belly and the force of his hunger for you. All the rest were vulgar details left somewhere under your skirts, and, unbeknownst to him, reflected in your childhood mirror situated on the wall behind his plump arse.

“Oh god.” he had choked out, winded and in awe as his body shook at the feel of you accepting him deep, “You’re a slice of heaven, heaven that’s-that’s what you fee- oh god, oh god.”

He had giggled at the absurdity of this dance and then broke off with a moan that made you giggle in turn and back and forth it went as his body jerked into yours as if he’d no control over it, led quite literally by the part of himself buried inside you. He knew it was foal-like and a poor showing as a lover and he also knew you didn’t care a bit, your eyes wide at the size of the intrusion and captivated by the sight of his newly enlightened face.

“You alright?” he asked urgently, as a sudden and familiar feeling took over his body. The feeling of his brakes giving out, his flaps malfunctioning, the hydraulics failing -it took over him, his spine tingling and his vision beginning to blur and only your punched out gasps and sweet smile wavering on his horizon as the frantic, masculine, natural need to drive in deep enough to puncture your heart seized him and propelled him in you, against you, above you with such force you forgot to breath. For all Egan’s teasing of Buck’s hatred for athletics, the man wasn’t shabby when it came down to it, even after months of internment, or maybe due to that stolen time, his life force seemed to pour out in a torrent and your belly buzzed at the sweet abuse.

“I’m perfect.” you managed at some point, “You’re perfect, so perfect.”

He shuddered at the praise and as if terror struck him then, he was suddenly pulling away and moaning “I should- I shouldn’t -I’m gonna, darlin, I’m gonna lose it-“ and young and sweet and clumsy as anything he rutted against your slick frantically, mouth pressed to yours until the hot gush of his satisfaction spilled out and added to the mind fuzzing feel of him sliding against your little pearl.

You encouraged his shaky limbs to collapse on you, the lanky frame of him a sweet weight, sweaty cheek pressed to your breast, you could feel the dopey curve of his smile against your plump flesh. His hair curled at the nape from the sweat of his exertions, all winter chill forgotten in this bed. War and missions and bombs, too. You petted each other for a while before he raised his head and, gazing at you adoringly, he murmured “thank you.” his nose nudging yours and the steadiest of kisses lingering in the tingly aftermath.

“Darlin?” he broached the subject a while later, cheek again pressed to your chest and his fingers sliding in a hypnotic caress over your thigh.

“Yeah, Buck?”

“Later,” he prefaced, tentative and raw, “when -when the war’s over, and when, well, when I can make my own promises…”

Your heart hammered beneath his ear and you squeezed your legs around him, as if to shore him up enough to say what you wanted him to say so very badly. “Yes?”

“Would you marry me then?” he begged and somehow you knew this, what you had just indulged in, was never going to happen without that hope for him.

Perhaps that’s why it felt so strong, like a communion of souls more than anything else. “I’ve half a mind to make you wait and get my answer when you come back tomorrow.” you teased and his head reared up with a dangerous glint in his eye.

“Don’t you dare.” he warned, grin breaking out despite himself.

The sound of the front latch grating on the door startled you both but he pressed you down when you went to scamper and clothe yourself. “The door’s closed anyway,” he argued in a whisper but you knew he felt as nervous as you at being caught, if not more so, yet still he was a stubborn one. His hand was firm and large clasping your cheek, expression arch and expectant. “Promise you’ll be a good little girl and say yes when I do ask.”

You laughed at his gall, to make you wait, to make you promise when he wasn’t even proposing. But then again -you had said you were his, and he was yours. It had already been done. Sometimes life was as simple as Gale Cleven made it out to be.

“I promise.” you whispered happily, bringing him back down to your embrace and willing away thoughts of tomorrow and flagging him out to danger.

One day he’d come back for good. One you could make promises again. Until then, there was hope.

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed. Feedback is a writers lifeblood, I’d adore hearing your thoughts. 💋

[licorice-tea]

I Think I Love You!

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x reader, Platonic Straw Hats & reader

Content: Strawhat!reader, cursing/strong language, kissing, Law has trouble with accepting his feelings, reader is a schemer and plotter fr, misunderstandings / miscommunication but more funny than angsty, fluff, idiots in love <3

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: this is a song fic based on “I Think I Love You!” by the Partridge Family lol, so the indented parts are song lyrics! also i wrote this between like 2 and 5 am… please forgive me for any grammar mistakes😭

This morning

Law cannot stand being a guest on the Thousand Sunny. He wakes up in the library- he must have fallen asleep there last night- and can already hear shouting from above deck. Why are they causing such a commotion this early on in the day? To him, the reason is simple: because the Straw Hat Pirates are inarguably the loudest, most annoying, chaotic bunch of-

thump thump thu-thump thump… knock knock!

Pushing the door to the library open with your back, you carefully turn while entering the room to reveal a serving tray in your hands.

Your voice rings out in the mostly silent room- save for the noise coming from the deck of the Thousand Sunny. “Hey, Law? Sanji made coffee for the girls and I, so I had him make you a cup t- oh.”

You smile to yourself upon seeing the ally captain, Law, fast asleep at one of the library desks. (Or at least, he looks like he’s asleep.) Wordlessly, you set the tray down beside him.

“He looks cute like this,” you think, “calm.”

On your way out, you pause and grab a sticky note from a drawer in another desk. You decide to jot down a little note rather than wake him. But, unbeknownst to you, Law is already awake and staring at your back.

Ok, so… there might be one exception to his feelings of contempt toward the Straw Hats.

And maybe it’s because he wants to let you fulfill your kind mission, or maybe he just panics, but when you turn around he closes his eyes again. You stride back across the library to his desk makeshift bed, and stick the note on the tray as quietly as possible. Law can feel the soft exhale of your breath fanning over him, knowing you’re probably smiling. Soon after, he hears the door open and close softly, and decides it’s safe to sit up and open his eyes again.

I woke up with this feeling

His tired eyes scan over your words with the tiniest hint of a smile: “Sanji made coffee! + There’s milk and sugar in separate cups, b/c I’m not sure how you like it. -y/n :)”

To think, you went out of your way to ask that dumbass cook to make a cup for him, too? Then you had arranged it so neatly- and written the sweetest goddamn little note… Well, it was really just a simple explanation of the tray sitting before him, but it was cute because it came from you. He knew you wrote it out of care and concern for him, not to mention your own kindness. And- as he allows his mind to wonder while staring at his untouched coffee- he thinks that maybe you did it out of love.

“Wait, no, that’s crazy.” All this time around Straw Hat and his crew must be getting to him. Law tries to remedy his outlandish idea that you might feel for him the way he does for you by starting on the coffee you brought him. He doesn’t usually take milk or sugar in his coffee, but since you went out of your way, he adds a splash of the former and a small cube of the latter. And suddenly, his mind is wandering again…

What a kind thing to do for someone. This makes him feel sure of his previous notion once again- that you just might love him. You have to. Because he’s falling in love with you, slowly but surely, and…. oh. Fuck. He loves you.

Law curses himself. Realizing he’s falling in love is NOT how this day should start. Or any day, for that matter.

I didn’t know how to deal with

Though he got at least 6 hours of sleep (which is around 3 more than usual for the surgeon), and drained his coffee cup, Law’s head is aching. It’s a result of stress, most likely. Because, ever since he came to the terrifying realization that he’s falling for you, he can’t stop thinking about it (love, you, etc.)

Your smile is one of his favorite things, for example. It ranges anywhere from bright (like on the night he cracked a single joke while the two of you kept watch from the crows nest, and suddenly you outshone the stars while laughing) to sweet (when you accept a compliment from the love cook with a shy expression), with at least a dozen more variations.

And your eyes… God, he needed to stop thinking about you. He can barely concentrate now; what did he even plan on doing today?

Law decides then, that if he’s to get anything done at all, he’ll need to push all thoughts of you to the backburner.

And so I just decided to myself

“This is a foolproof plan,” Law thinks to himself, “one of my best yet.”

He’s most definitely lying to himself, but is it really lying if the liar themself believes the lie?

“Shit. Even that doesn’t make sense.” Whatever, he just needs to concentrate on something- anything other than you.

So Law, stubborn as ever, uses this trait to his advantage by becoming dead set on not thinking of you at all. He does so by ignoring you when you pass by each other in the halls of the Thousand Sunny, not meeting your eye when you offer a friendly smile over dinner, even straight up ignoring you once when you knocked on the door to his room. He knows it was you because you have this habit of making a short tune out of knocks-

No! He absolutely can’t think of you. Law has already made up his mind, and under no circumstances can he backtrack.

I’d hide it to myself

Law is very obviously hiding something, you’re just not sure what.

It’s like his demeanor toward you changed overnight. Before his switch up, the two of you had been spending a large portion of your days together. And sure, there aren’t many people to choose from for company when you’re at sea, but you took pride in the fact that Law still wanted to be around you.

It had taken a little time for the Captain of the Heart Pirates to open up at first- which you didn’t mind at all, some people are simply more reserved than others- but once he did, your purely physical attraction to the man grew into a head spinning crush. So, once you gained the confidence, you began flirting and showing him how you felt in careful ways.

And it had seemed like it was working! He engaged in meaningful conversations with you, started sharing sly compliments and jokes and looks, would always sit beside you at dinner- or directly across from you if both adjacent seats were taken- and didn’t seem to mind trading in his late night reading for keeping watch from the crows nest with you. All signs had pointed to him at least thinking of you as a friend, if not reciprocating your feelings for him.

So why the hell is he ignoring you all of a sudden? Whatever the reason, you intend to find out.

And never talk about it

After consulting with your team (Nami, Usopp, and Robin- the most emotionally intelligent people and/or those with the most relationship experience on the crew), you decide to confront Law. “It would be best to be straightforward and honest,” is the consensus the four of you came to.

But, it proves to be harder than you thought since he is still avoiding you. You’ve taken to hanging around the kitchen because everyone has to go there at some point, as everyone gets hungry or thirsty, but Law never shows. How is he getting his morning coffee if he never goes to the kitchen? It bewilders you; how he’s managing to sneak by you on your own ship. (On the second day of trying to catch him, you realize that he can, in fact, use his devil fruit abilities to avoid walking around the ship and simply teleport into the kitchen instead.)

The next day, you decide to hang around inside the kitchen. Sanji doesn’t mind one bit, and you think that Law is sure to pay a visit at one point or another.

And he does! You don’t even have to wait long, because early in the morning- around 6:30 am or so- he teleports in with a flash of blue light and greets Sanji with a nod. However, he doesn’t take notice of you sitting on a stool at the kitchen island.

“Just as I suspected.” You mentally pat yourself on the back for your sleuthing skills.

Law walks to the counter to grab a mug and pour a steaming cup from the pot the chef had just brewed, when you speak up.

“Morning, Law.”

He nearly drops his mug before turning around to see you, sitting at the kitchen island, with your own cup of coffee. (He notes how yours is a much lighter shade, and you’ve added ice and whipped cream. It fits you, he thinks, to prefer something sweeter. Great, just another reason why you could never like him the way he likes you.)

Law had purposefully been using his devil fruit and any other means to avoid you these last couple of days; yet here you are, looking at him with your knowing gaze. He was sure that you had caught on to his avoidance, because you’re perceptive like that, he just didn’t expect you to outsmart him like this. It’s enough to drive him crazy inside; like everything about you drives him crazy. (In some strange and foreign way that makes him yearn to be around you, but forces him to push you away.)

He mumbles out a quick “Morning.” and tries not to look as caught as he feels.

This is where you realize the flaw in your plan to confront Law: Sanji is also there. And despite the love you have for your crewmate, you don’t really want to do this in front of him.

So, when Law leaves just moments later, you follow.

And didn't I go and shout it

“Law! Wait up!” You call from a few paces behind him.

Though he doesn’t wait, he responds, “What?”

“What do you mean what? You’re being weird, and I want to know why!”

Law finally slows down, but only to open the door to the library, “I’m not being weird. Go away, y/n.” He states simply, then tries to close the door, but you hold it open.

When you walked into my room

You follow Law into the library- the room he has begun to frequent and sort of staked his claim on ever since he became a guest on board the Thousand Sunny.

With equal fervor, you respond; “Then why are you avoiding me? And straight up ignoring me when I try to talk to you? Because it’s really fucking rude. We’re friends, you know, and I thought-“

“We can’t be friends.” his voice is cold.

“Oh… Oh.” You think you understand now. “That’s so dumb, Law. Like, really stupid actually. Our friendship doesn’t depend on this alliance, if that’s why you-“

“It’s not!”

“Stop cutting me off! Ugh, just…” you sigh, clearly frustrated, “just tell me what’s going on then, please.”

He looks at you, your arms crossed and jaw set tightly. One might take your expression for angry upon first inspection, but there’s just a hint of sadness in your eyes and furrowed brows. He doesn’t want to ever see you like this- especially not because of something he’s done.

“I think I love you!”

This is it. He’s going to confess his feelings to you and ruin everything. You’ll probably hate him, never want to see him again, and that will just make it a hundred times harder to endure the remainder of his alliance with the Straw Hats.

“Well.. We can’t be friends because I…” Where was confidence and blatant disregard for the opinions of others when Law needed it?

You tilt your head and quirk a brow, giving him a quizzical look. The knowledge that you would never judge him so harshly; nor do anything to purposely hurt him, wasn’t doing much for his nerves right now, but it would have to do. He just needs to spit it out and get this over with now.

“I think I love you.”

You blink a few times as your eyes widen in clear surprise. Are you upset… or happy? He can’t tell, so he quickly corrects himself; “Uh- I’m falling in love with you. I think.”

(I think I love you)

Your frown grows into a small smile before the curve of your lips opens up into a much happier, brighter grin. And you laugh in a way that’s practically melodic to Law, which allows him to finally release the breath he’s been holding.

“I… I think I love you too, Law. Or I’m falling.” You emphasize the word like it’s an inside joke, just between the two of you. “It’s hard to tell.”

“…Yeah.”

“So… that’s why you’ve been avoiding me?”

“I’m, uh, sorry. I didn’t-“

Law stops when he feels the gentle press of your lips on the corner of his mouth. It’s barely a kiss, but you’re so incredibly warm and soft that he really doesn’t care that it only lasts 3 seconds. (Though, he would very much like it if you did it again. He makes a mental note to kiss you back with more certainty, should he get the chance.)

“It’s ok.” You tell him after you pull away.

He nods slowly- it’s probably the first time you’ve ever seen him in such a flustered state- before hesitantly leaning in again to close the distance between your lips. He tilts your jaw with one hand, and his other comes to rest on the small of your back. But he waits for you, like asking for your permission, which you grant him by parting your lips slightly. Then Law finally kisses you; it’s slow and a little unsure at first, but he quickly gets caught up to speed. You both find yourselves lost in the other as the whole exchange becomes more passionate, albeit a little aggressive and clumsy.

And this time, the kiss lasts much longer than 3 seconds.

[rodolfoparras]

Gaz is just so pretty he gives the worst breeding kink ever like I NEED this man to have my kids

Cw: baby trapping, 18+

Okay but thinking about meeting Gaz in his recruit years and forming a mentor mentee relationship with him, but it’s clear that there’s something more going on between the two of you going by the longing gaze the lasting touches and the words spoken in a far less professional tone.

But because of the slight age gap along with the difference in ranks you decide to reject his feelings, sticking to only spending the nights with him before leaving in the morning,

Gaz never complained he’d take anything you were willing to give him, even if it meant a couple hours of tumbling around in the sheets.

That is until he finds out that you are planning to send him away, overhearing the whole ordeal while hiding behind the door to your office ,things were starting to get risky your relationship had started to be seen as something more than professional and your solution to the problem was to send him away to some other squad.

But Gaz isn’t having any of it, instead he decides to cook up a plan, solidifying it once you announce your decision to him.

He chooses not to take his birth control while spending night and day skewed onto your cock, taking load upon load til cum is trickling out his sopping cunt, all under the disguise that it’s for keeps sake, something he’ll miss while away.

But just as the day comes where he’s about to get sent away, he shows up to your office with a positive pregnancy test in hand and a faux look of worry painted on his face

It doesn’t take much for you to call off your previous plans, easily bringing him into your embrace while whispering words of reassurance.

For the first time ever he could see something other than desire swirling in your iris and he can’t help the smile on his face as his hand subconsciously caresses his stomach.

He’d done so much to earn your love and he’d finally gotten it.

[yourdoorisunlocked]

I'll Never Meet Another You... - Part 2

📺〘 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝑰 | 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝑰𝑰 | 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝑰𝑰𝑰 〙📺

𝐀/𝐍: Back after popular demand... *drumroll* OUR FAVORITE TV MAN!! 🥰 I just love writing Possessive!Vox, idk what it is about him, he's just so sCrUmPtIoUs-

I lowkey feel like I'm betraying my country of Alastor Nation by simping for this man, but CAN YOU BLAME ME??

. . .

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟑,𝟎𝟕𝟗 ⚠︎ 𝐓𝐖/𝐂𝐖 ⚠︎: 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐫, 𝐭𝐲𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐕𝐨𝐱 𝐡𝐢𝐣𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬, 𝐞𝐭𝐜. 𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐑𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: ꜱᴏᴍᴇʙᴏᴅʏ'ꜱ ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜɪɴɢ ᴍᴇ

. . .

The skies of hell that normally shone a bright cherry red had faded into a deep alluring maroon, mock sparkles twinkling down upon the Pride Ring in a beautiful imitation of Earth’s stars when you finally returned home from work. 

You slammed your front door behind you, as all of the day’s pent-up frustration from being overworked and criminally underpaid finally weighed down on you, and a few dishes trembled in fear of your wrath as a soft glow of darkness outlined your figure. 

The peace of the apartment had been entirely interrupted to make room for your sulking at your shitty living situation, though you knew you should’ve been grateful to have your job, however stressful.

For you, it definitely beat out prostitution or becoming an assassin-for-hire, so, who were you to complain about your mentally taxing job as a waitress? You might’ve been catcalled a handful of times, and maybe it even bordered on harassment here and there, but you weren’t forced to outright fuck them.  

And thankfully, after some time, you had realized that for some reason, they never seemed to return to the restaurant, seeming to go missing completely from existence. Even an uncomfortable coworker of yours that you despised being around had been “let go” after a mere day of working at the diner. Maybe they all got the hint? That’s what you’d like to hope. 

Though, even if you were safe from such advances, you definitely weren’t spared from the abuse of being burnt out of all your social battery in order to serve people. 

The fact that it was Valentine’s Day in a few days didn’t make it any better. 

For the entire first week of February, you were forced to sacrifice your sanity to serve people with a dazzling smile and cake a ridiculous amount of concealer on your face to hide your heavy eyebags.

Not to mention the slight jealousy that had boiled over inside of you, fueled by exhaustion and loneliness from cold nights alone and grueling days working at the restaurant, whenever you had to serve those lovey-dovey couples that were all over each other.

You despised them, with their tender Eskimo kisses, and stupid, mushy pet names for each other, and- Oh, great, they’re fucking under the table, now!

You’d had to kick out more than one group for that handful of incidents.

Just once, you’d like for someone to sweep you off your tired feet and bring you to a nice little outing, while shoving your infatuation with each other in everyone’s single-pringle fucking faces. 

Oh, well. It wasn’t like finding love in a wretched place like Hell was probable. But you had your delusional fantasies, and more importantly, your playlists. 

A familiar bloom of warmth in your chest had your heart ache with relief as you stumbled over to your bedroom. You promptly flopped onto your thin, squeaky mattress and stretched out your arms and legs, popping each stiff joint that had formed that day. 

Rolling onto your back, you let your loose hair that had been strained into a bun all day fall onto the bed as you opened Sinstagram, bobbing your head to a song that had been stuck inside your playlist for a while.

It felt like an actual crime to start indulging in your daily stalking admiring of your latest obsession, the television Overlord himself, the founder of the biggest tech company in the Pride Ring, you guessed it, Vox. 

Yes, you knew that it was creepy, but this was Hell. Who was anyone to judge you for fangirling – just a little bit – over him? Especially with that face card. You’d had very unsavory relationships in the past, but you’d throw your entire Sacred Rulebook of Relationship Standards out of the proverbial window for Vox. 

Besides, anyone would be fucking blind not to fawn over him. Seven feet tall, hotter than hell itself, and more powerful and influential than you could possibly conceive? He was every Wattpad reader’s wet dream. The blueprint, if you were being honest.

As you start scrolling through his Sinstagram – well, the company’s, really – a soft smile spreads across your face, your yearning gaze completely taken with him. 

The levels of down bad you had to be, to fall in love with a flat screen... 

Unbeknownst to you, a soft whirring that could’ve easily been mistaken for an air conditioner had gotten louder and louder, closer and closer to the familiar stained glass of your bedroom window, tarnished with smoke and pollution. But it was clear enough for someone to look in and see what heinous acts you were doing on that phone of yours, never mind your search history. 

Even Val would turn his nose up at some of that shit...

You didn’t even notice the small flash of the lens from its installed camera, or how it hovered just ever so close enough to the window beside you that it could get a proper view of what you were looking at, the contents of your phone on display for its Master to see. 

And said Master was currently relaxing into his chair with a self-satisfied simper, his earlier stress from the typical daily jetlag melting away in your presence. The tension in Vox's shoulders loosened as his fingers danced over the keyboard briefly, and a monitor to the right lit up with a close-up of your face.

We meet again, Doll~...

The electronic Overlord had been awaiting this moment for what seemed like an eternity, as he mundanely danced his way through daily routine simply to keep you under his watchful eye, come the evening. 

Throughout the day, Vox’s phone had been blowing up, par for the course of the ‘season of love’, as they called it. Of course, dealing with his job daily would’ve been an absolute thrill; cultivating his power and influence to spread across the Pride Ring by the second, watch Sinners fall over themselves to purchase the latest of VoxTech, y’know, the usual everyday experience.

But you were his change in daily routine, an escape from the facade of a showman that he had to keep up for the public, and you were right within Vox's reach.

And he could only restrain himself from up and snatching you away for so long. 

Though, recently, the idea of kidnapping you had left a rather sour taste on Vox's tongue. He would've rather lured you in with his persona, and captivate you with all that he could offer, the security, the wealth, whatever you'd desire, Vox would provide.

So, when Vox found out about your "little" infatuation with him, what with the sinful fanart hoarding and the fact that you anonymously followed every account that he or his company managed, it was a game changer.

And the television demon was, above all, a courteous, charismatic demon, despite his... outbursts. And although he didn't have much relationship experience, he'd rather like to learn.

And he was sure that you'd be more than willing to teach him.

Vox’s focus from his fantasies were broken by the sight of your expression souring when a notification pinged on your phone. 

It was your new co-worker, who had texted you the details of the new opening times since the restaurant had been getting much more foot traffic. 

And it apparently planned to remain that way until the end of the month. 

"6 A.M.? Are you fucking kidding me?... Alright, might as well get to bed earlier, now," you stood up and begrudgingly over to your bathroom, grumbling a string of curses as your bad mood was freshly revived.

Vox watched as you retreated from your bedroom, throwing articles of clothing from the bathroom onto your bed.

Water began pattering against the marble walls, and steam had gradually seeped into the room.

“I’m just an average man, with an average life...” 

“I work from nine to five, hey, hell, I pay the price.” 

Oh, you little tease...

With a soft scoff at the irony, Vox started humming along to the little tune you’d started singing as he tapped his fingers against the desk, impatient to be graced with your presence on the live feed of the VoxTech Voyeurscope. 

“All I want is to be left alone, in my average home.” 

“But why do I always feel, like I’m in the Twilight Zone?” 

Vox sat back in his chair and kicked his legs upon the surface of his desk, his mind racing with answers to your predicament.

“I always feel like, somebody’s watchin’ me~!"

He was accustomed to returning to his room, only to bear witness to your mad self-ranting about what a dick your boss was, how your shitty pay was barely supporting you, and the many idiots you had to deal with, ones Vox would personally take care of, of course. 

“And I have no privacy, ooh-oh-oh,"

"I always feel like, somebody's watching me!"

But as entertaining as it was, Vox hated seeing you slump into your abode, the eyebags more prominent than ever on your face.

You looked so... tired, so spent. He'd never use you like that, not if he was your boss...

“Tell me is it just a dream?” 

Wait...

A pixelated lightbulb flashed against the left side of Vox's interface as he leaned forward against his monitor, frantically searching for whoever he needed to terminate fire so that you could take their place. 

And, like a hellish prayer answered, the spot for a personal assistant was gloriously empty.

Heh, there really is a God...

A wave of Vox’s hand ordered the computer to direct him to his personal digital office, showing him forms, emails, and requests waiting for him to green light, all minor cases compared to what he was searching for. 

It didn’t take long for Vox to find the form he was looking for, and it seemed that Lucifer had smiled upon him that day, as right when he retrieved the assistant application form, you exited the shower, the patter of water coming to an abrupt stop. 

You walked out in nothing but a towel and a sheen of water droplets glistening against your skin. Ever the gentleman, Vox turned away with a small blue-hued blush when you dropped the towel and began to dress yourself, only turning back when he spotted you picking up the towel out of his peripheral. 

With a small, triumphant smirk and a short mental request, the Voyeurscope returned promptly to Vox. He handed it the form, manifesting it into a physical piece of paper to insert into its awaiting craned claws. 

Vox could get you out of that horrible place, no doubt about it. But he had to make sure that you did your part as well. 

"Bring this to her apartment. Be discreet about it."

He handed the drone the empty form, and instantly it zoomed across the Entertainment District to your apartment, which wasn’t even that far from the Vee’s headquarters. 

It made a short trip through the ventilation system that led into your bedroom, tucking in on itself to deliver the paper to you.

Thankfully your back was turned to it and braiding your hair, as a shiny metal claw reached out from behind the metal door to the vent just above your bed. It dropped the application form upon your mattress, and Vox waited with bated breath for you to notice.

The form floated precariously down onto your bed, landing gracefully just as you turned around and jumped onto the mattress. You were half-tempted to reach for your phone and end the night with your daily simp-scrolling before bed. 

Vox’s heart lurched in his chest once you spotted the form and held up the piece of paper with a questioning expression. You didn’t remember having this anywhere in your bag when you left the restaurant. 

“What in the...?”  

Then, your eyes caught onto the logo. 

VoxTech. 

Holy shit. 

Apparently, you’d accidentally snatched someone else’s application form to work for VoxTech, an idea that completely slipped your mind for the last miserable months you’d slaved away at the diner you worked at.

It wasn’t like a spontaneous trip to the Entertainment District, of all places, was something that you could afford, let alone tolerate with the skeezes that sauntered about the streets, looking for young little things like you to prey on. 

But despite its infamous reputation, Vox definitely wasn’t the worst of the Vees, not by a fucking long shot. And that wasn’t just your obsessive, simping brain talking here. 

Sure, he was the embodiment of capitalism and corporate greed at its finest, but an office job with a few tons of workload sounded much better than what you were getting, working at a shabby restaurant and going home every night to your shithole of an apartment.

Not to mention, you’d be working under the Overlord you’d obsessed over for weeks on end. 

Hopefully you’d get the chance to be under him, too- 

Also, the goddamn paygrade! Your eyes bulged out of your head and your mouth fell slightly agape in surprise, unaware of how the television Overlord was gauging your every reaction and sipping on his coffee with an amused smirk. 

Perhaps God had finally taken pity upon your mortal soul and decided that you deserved to catch a break, and for that, you were eternally grateful. You’d be skipping halfway to church, by now, if Hell had one. Maybe even click your heels a couple times on the way, too. 

In a flash, you rushed over to your nuclear fallout zone of a desk, sweeping the mess of papers and ‘RENT DUE’ bills off its surface. You quickly took a pen and scribbled down the required information for the application form at lightning speed. Smoke was practically rising off the paper by the time you were done with it.

The form was filled out in record time, and Vox watched as his plan unfolded perfectly before him. The definite click of your desk drawer closed as you placed the form inside for tomorrow, your fate sealed and unknowingly passed into Vox's greedy hands. 

“So gullible for me, aren’t you~?” His gaze softened adoringly towards you as he murmured to no one; gentle, placating words meant for your ears hitting only the damned barrier of his computer screen.

A fond, blue-hued grin lined with neon teal teeth spread across Vox’s blue-screen interface as he watched you flop onto your bed. You kicked your feet happily and gushed like a schoolgirl as you lost yourself to your daydreaming.

You knew you weren’t important enough to actually have a meeting with Vox himself, but this was fucking fanfic material, and a gorgeous opportunity that you knew was too good to brush off. 

“Ooh! I can’t wait to meet him! If I ever meet him. I wonder what Vox's like when he isn’t working... He’s definitely the Type A kinda guy, super work oriented.” A spot-on observation.

“Ugh... But I’m totally not, though. Eh, doesn’t matter, I’ll be accepted either way, it’s not like anyone else is brave enough to accept the job.” Well, she’s not wrong. 

“No, that’s a little cocky. I mean, it’s not exactly a guarantee I’ll be accepted.” Oho, you’d be surprised, my dear...

You pouted doubtfully for a moment, weighing all the variables in your head. This could go horribly wrong for you, maybe even end up with your brains splattering against an aquarium wall, if you played your cards recklessly.

But you'd had enough of this life, and you were far from sick of drowning in the suffocating depressive cycle that you'd been spiraling into for the past couple of months since you'd arrived in Hell.

Who knew your afterlife would be just as dismal and bleak as your human one.

“But it’s worth a shot!” You clenched your fists with a newfound determination, and Vox let out a relieved sigh. You really shouldn’t scare him like that, not when he was so close to having you securely within his grasp. Willingly, that is.

If pushed to it, Vox had no qualms over taking you by force.

“Even though I have no idea what he’s like in person, I’d die to meet him. Double die, that is.”  

“Ugh, but should I miss my shift for the interview? Or should I plan to go there whenever Boss gives me a break next?”  

It was practically torture, watching you go back and forth between decisions, leaving Vox feeling like he was watching the finale of ‘Yeah, I Fucked Your Girlfriend, So What?’, and it had left him on the cruelest cliffhanger he could’ve possibly manifested in the history of shitty melodramas. 

You hadn’t even decided what you were even going to wear, and you were already rethinking your afterlife’s choices. 

Oh, shit...

Your once relaxed state was all but diminished when you realized that simply showing up to the interview wasn’t going to cut it. You had to dress to impress to land this job.

After all, Vox's reputation was the peak of excellence, perfection at its finest, and the company's interviewers would probably have you executed on the spot if you dared to show up in tattered sweatpants and your favorite hoodie.

You rushed over to your dresser, throwing out any articles of clothing you deemed inappropriate for the interview.

Finally, you settled on a plain midnight blue form-fitting blouse with a black ascot, and a black pencil skirt that you had bought for your uniform at the diner. You never wore it much, of course, with all the sleazy customers you’d attract, but you thought it was cute, anyway. 

With a satisfied hum, you laid out the outfit upon your desk, and with a relieved sigh, fell right back into bed with your phone on the lowest brightness possible.

You then scrolled the endless crimson twilight away with half-lidded eyes until you slowly drifted off to sleep, leaving Vox alone to his thoughts once more.

Upon seeing your dozing form, Vox made the drone hover for just a few more moments to watch you drift off into a blissful sleep.

He promptly called it back, and once again, the poor drone worked overtime to return to its Master, and its battery was nearly completely spent as it landed in Vox's claws.

Sharp, neon-dipped fingers tampered with the device for a moment, searching for the gold mine of footage he had recorded. He tossed the video onto his monitor's screen, and the file loaded and saved instantly into his precious folder. 

A warmth crept up his chest as he laid back in his chair, a conniving grin stretching its way onto his features.

The familiar smugness of sure victory, and the honey-sweet bitterness of whatever spell you had put him under had left his heart aching. You may have been prone to your midday daydreaming, but they couldn't compare to Vox's ambitious fantasies of you and him together.

And tomorrow, you'd be all his. His personal assistant, clad in that tight little uniform that had him frothing at the mouth for you.

And speaking of which...

Vox's retinas pulled up different images of uniforms and color-coordinated outfits that perfectly matched his likeness and style.

Indeed, when Vox was done with you, you'd be a spitting image of him, every facet and aspect of you fashioned for him, and him alone.

Every demon in Hell would know exactly who you belonged to, from the marks that would line your shoulders and thighs, to the pleated blue skirt and coattails that he'd have Velvet fashion, just for you.

She'd look stunning in my colors...

. . .

𝐄𝐧𝐝 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: Alright, I promise, I SWEAR WE'RE GETTING THERE-

I needed to use this chapter to build up the plot's structure, since the first chapters tend to be little concepts of what I want the rest of the story to be about. I promise, ON MY MOTHER that next chapter we will be seeing more Vox x Reader content in chapter three, especially since the tv demon brainrot is invading and corrupting my brain cells rn 😓

As always, thanks for reading! And once again, my taglist is always below, so please comment there to be tagged!

. . .

𝑻𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕: @starsformydarlingmazel, @chitter-chatter, @hazzbindarlingg, @darkangel582, @matrixbearer2024, @prosciuttosblog, @frog-fans-unite, @chewbrry, @villxinmiixx, @lulurubberduckie, @mysterypotatoink, @kintsugi-akane, @rustedtoaster

➺𝑩𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝑩𝒆𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝑻𝒐 @cafekitsune - 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐓𝐨 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫!

[jayflrt]

𝐀 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐁𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐒 24. sunghoon is the new Papa John

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SUMMARY ▸ in which you work at the starbucks where heeseung is a regular at (and considered a public enemy). also he only goes when he’s stoned off his ass.

[melodic-haze]

☆ — DEMO TRACK: sub!Arlecchino (GI) x dom!Reader

☆ — TYPE: NSFW

☆ — CONTENT WARNINGS: Pet play, using a hidden vibrator in public, reader with a cock/strap referred to as the former, ROUGH sex, spanking, a lot of painplay actually, blood cuz have you?? Seen her nails????? What the hell, overstimulation, dumbification 🫶

☆ — NOTES: I haven't actually played Genshin since the eternal Ayaka timer lol but anyway I got carried away I think LMAOOO I just have a huge thing for authority figures who are all subby for me 😞 I might do an aftercare continuation post idk

☆ — PARTS: Part 1 (you are here), Part 2

I really need to put a collar on this woman and call her my personal attack dog

This tall, scary woman who wields a SCYTHE, this Harbinger slash one winged fallen angel with crosses for eyes, this person who people call 'Father'???? Imposing as hell, very much the type that you can't look at in the eyes or else you're probably marked for death next.......but who could EVER expect that all that would go off and crumble down at the mere sight of you with a collar on your hand, a smile on your face and the intent to reduce her into nothing but your personal little pet?

Intimidating? Oh, please. Maybe she'd cut everyone else, but she wouldn't dare do that to you! Not even when she has a vibrator stuffed in her pussy. What's she gonna do realistically, hurt you? Oh no no no she wouldn't dare do that, you've done nothing wrong, could NEVER do anything wrong so whyever would she do that to you?

You've always wondered how Arlecchino could ever balance on those shoes of hers, with the way her heels narrow down into practically nothing by the time its length reaches the ground.

It's an impressive feat, being able to balance on such technically impractical footwear.. especially when the wearer has a small vibrator stuffed in her cunt, controlled by none other than you and the equally small device resting in your pocket, ready for you to use when you felt like it.

And you did exactly that—as the Harbinger went to talk to some person about whatever it is (you never really cared about the current semantics), you dug into your pocket idly, innocently, even, but the both of you know full well that it was anything but.

Despite Arlecchino keeping a straight face, you know the effect was immediate; you could tell from the slight stumble and the quite-literal split-second glitch that you miss when you blink. Unfortunately for her, though, the third-party hadn't blinked so she's left to scramble for an excuse as you watch on nearby, utterly delighted.

Eventually you see her excuse herself early, making it appear as if whatever they were discussing didn't seem to work. And who would ever question Arlecchino, of all people?

You.

"Well, now," you begin with a raised eyebrow as you watched your approaching lover approach you with a surprising amount of grace, wondering how she's kept herself steady with those heels of hers, "I thought you were going to take longer. What happened?"

You see her eyes stare at you, the red crosses within them practically burning so bright it's as if you were so close that you could touch the sun and burn... Though instead of looking away like a normal person with a sense of self-preservation, you dared to flash her an innocent smile as if you were utterly clueless, but both of you knew VERY well that that was, simply put, pure and utter bullshit.

She licks her lips before answering, "I have.. rescheduled for the discussion to continue when his pr-- ..proposal has been polished to the standard I require. We can return to-- ..!"

Her breath hitches, and she moves on to sit down swiftly and cross her legs in a futile effort to keep the toy still within her, though that turns out to be a mistake as you increase the intensity even further. Her mouth practically drops open before she looks down and covers her mouth as she grabs onto your wrist, nails digging and causing you to wince, though it doesn't keep the smug look on your face from increasing.

You narrow your eyes, as if utterly unimpressed by her antics, as you speak only for your lover to hear, "Flaking on your responsibilities just for you to get some relief sooner rather than later? Okay, then." And she hears, sees you laugh, and you both know that she knows she's crossed you, "Let's go home."

The only thing your pet Harbinger could really do was nod.

She need need NEEDS to be treated roughly for her to feel things bc tbh she probably has a high FEELING threshold in general. And like she's insane but that's another thing

Pull on her collar, her leash. Actually no pull on her HAIR there's a reason why she has it in a low tail 🤨🤨 pull it use it to direct her where you want her and she'll do whatever it is you require for her to do

Please do absolutely spank her, put her in her place, urge her on. Pain is a great stimulant, and is a great teacher 🫶

Needs she NEEDS you to hold her up as you pound at her without stopping, vibrator still in her cunt and being pushed deeper into her over and over by your cock and she doesn't tell you to stop either bc she's telling you to give her more, please!!

This deadly woman is asking you, pleading you, begging you for you to absolutely ruin her!!! But nonono you can't let her have what she wants when she's been uncharacteristically not doing her job like she's meant to so you pull out of her and immediately turn off the toy inside her and she looks at you with such shock that it's so strange to see on this ever-so-composed-and-strict member of the Fatui. But at the end you don't really care as you start up the whole process again after waiting for long enough, even switching your positions and paces and everything

Once you deem it enough and that she's basically at her limit, you decide to grant her.. mercy. Fuck her until she cums and she cums HARD, her nails reducing the sheets into damaged tatters of fabric and leaving bloody claw marks and bites on your skin as she writhes and twitches and glitches violently (you'll take care of it later, you reckon, but right now do you really care?) before she settles down.......

But you don't stop. Nononono you don't stop not at all!! This IS what she wanted, right??? Being fucked so hard until she's all dumb and forgets everything she has to keep track of in that brain of hers, make her forget that she's supposed to be this scaryyy Harbinger who could kill you in the blink of an eye, reduce her into nothing but your obedient little puppy desperate for a powerless mortal, of all things. That has to be humiliating, it SHOULD be humiliating when she has all that power, but she doesn't care. Not now, not ever.

Not when it's you :33

[callmerainman]

Okay, I watched the Hazbin Hotel finale.

So, before starting a full length fanfiction about the Alastor scenarios and headcanons I wrote I wanted to at least wait for season 1 to end to get more clarity about Alastor.

BUT HE ENDED UP BEING EVEN MORE AMBIGUOUS.

Like, we still don't know the kind of contract he's under. His intentions are still unclear. Even his breakdown during the final song is weird. Is he going insane because he was almost killed, because he's too desperate to be free, or because he almost sacrificed himself for others. DOES HE CARE?? I DON'T UNDERSTAND.

Look, I get that fully corrupt villains are cool and intriguing. But I yearn for villains who redeem themselves because they start caring. I don't expect him to ascend to Heaven of course but aaagggh at least see him show genuine care for once. He's still so beautifully written tho.

I don't know where a fanfiction could go with canon premises (I love following canon) but...maybe I can do my own thing.

[maypersonne]

Shang Qinghua really does think that he is unlovable huh

He really thinks that he is of no value to anyone if he isn't making himself useful he will be disposed off and that will be it

He genuinely believes no would ever want him so he manipulate and posture as a lesser so to be seen as a necessary annoyance rather than the pest he believes himself to be

He hates all the work he has to do but he prefers exhaustion to the paranoia and anxiety that eat him up when he isn't showcasing his value

He is in a constant battle just to be acceptable rather than loved so he can just be in the presence of those who are dear to him

Like damn like father like son I can see where binghe got all his issues like airplane bro stop unloading it all on your OCs look you gave the poor dear anxiety

[sluttywoozi]

For Worse or For Better | PART 1 OF 3

Prompt: this marriage was supposed to be a scam but, but listen, 

For: @lenireads

Rating: T || Word Count: ~3000

Warnings: fake marriage au, strangers to spouses to lovers, wine and champagne drinking, food mention, swearing, flirty/sexist comments from men (unseen but mentioned), attempted unwanted touching of the waist (reader stops it and its not a huge plot point), wonwoo is oblivious, kissing, some suggestiveness but not as much as is normal for me sorryyyy, this is a full on romcom just so yall know

Reader Notes: in grad school, i say wife multiple times, girlfriend once, and cleavage once, wears a dress and heels, receives flirty/sexist comments from men (briefly mentioned), attempted unwanted touching of the waist (reader stops it and its not a huge plot point)

Wonwoo has no idea what he was thinking when he asked you to marry him.

All he knows is that late one night, after a few too many whiskeys, his boss told him he’d never get on the board if he didn’t settle down. All the execs were traditionalists, apparently, and wanted to give the position to someone who’d use it to support a family.

Wonwoo tried to argue, tried to explain that he didn’t see himself settling down, that he was the right person for the position, that cats should count as family. 

Nothing got through, and that night, Wonwoo poured his boss into a cab and left work feeling defeated. 

Mingyu called, picked up on the exhaustion in his voice, and offered to bring food over and brainstorm ideas. Now, Wonwoo doesn’t normally go to Mingyu for ideas, just out of self-preservation, but he was feeling a little desperate. 

He’d been working toward this position for five years now - starting in the mailroom and moving up step by step, with Chief Financial Officer as his end goal. It was finally in his sights, but one pesky little factor was keeping him from reaching CFO, and he knew that rat bastard Alan Connor was vying for the position too.

Connor was already engaged to a nice woman named Helen, and if Wonwoo didn’t figure something out, he’d be glaring at Alan over a celebratory dinner. And he knew the douche would request seafood, knowing full well Wonwoo hates it and would have to pick at the sides like a peasant. 

No, Wonwoo simply could not allow it.

He supposes that’s why he listened when Mingyu mentioned knowing someone trying to avoid international tuition for their Master’s Program. And he listened when Mingyu said they’d considered getting married to obtain citizenship. And he listened when Mingyu offered to put him in contact with them, saying that you could solve your problems together. 

The next thing he knew, Wonwoo was standing next to you in front of the minister, sliding a ring on your fourth finger to the tune of Mingyu’s loud weeping in the aisle behind him. 

It was awkward at first.

Wonwoo had a spare room and you were looking for a place to stay, so the logical decision was for you to move in with him.

You were like a ghost the first few weeks, staying in your room most of the time, mainly emerging to cook or get water. It was only after he got takeout for the fifth night in a row that you appeared in the kitchen, telling him that if he wouldn’t let you pay rent he could at least stop getting delivery and let you cook for him. It made sense to say yes at the time - Wonwoo was getting tired of eating nothing but restaurant food, and you would be cooking for yourself anyway, so it wouldn’t be hard to double the portion. 

That was Wonwoo’s first mistake. 

Well. 

Second, probably, after marrying you in the first place. 

Because agreeing to your proposal meant he came home to delicious smells and soft music and you, dancing in the kitchen in your pajamas, with a glass of wine in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other. It was so heartwrenchingly domestic that Wonwoo started wondering why he didn’t want a family in the first place. 

It got worse when his cats started liking you more than they liked him. Maybe it’s because you’re so warm, both in personality and body temperature. Maybe it’s because you were home more often than he was, doing online temp work until your citizenship went through and your tuition was adjusted. Maybe it’s because you were happy to pet them until they were tired of affection, or because you let them sleep on you, or because you spoke to them so sweetly. 

Wonwoo’s not sure, but he does know he literally felt his heart clench in his chest the first time he walked in on you cradling Mr. Mittens like a baby.

Queen Bea was wrapped around your shoulders like a fur stole, and your fingers were running up and down Mr. Mittens’ stomach, his purrs audible from the front door. He’d stopped in his tracks, eyes wide behind his glasses, breath caught in his throat, because Mr. Mittens didn’t even let Wonwoo hold him like that. 

(Mr. Mittens had been adopted to help soothe Wonwoo’s anxiety, but he discovered soon after that Mr. Mittens himself had even worse anxiety, and thus entered into their lives Queen Beatrice, his emotional support cat’s emotional support kitten, who now runs the entire household)  

Then you started school, and Wonwoo announced to the company that he’d gotten married to his long-term girlfriend. The financial advisors at your university were a bit suspicious at the sudden change in your marital status, and he had colleagues asking him left and right what you looked like and for cute photos from the vacations he’d lied about going on with you. It was starting to make him nervous, and it must have been obvious to you because you had the genius idea of staging couple photos.

You disappeared and came home one Saturday afternoon with various outfits and props, plus Mingyu in tow to act as your cameraman, and off you all went.

(Gyu’s a self-proclaimed Instagram whore so he had a lot of ideas, and knew spots all over the city that could be passed off as more exotic locales)

Wonwoo felt so stupid after for thinking it would be a safe outing, that he wouldn’t be put further at risk of falling for you with every snapshot of you kissing him on the cheek or wrapping a scarf around his neck or staring at him like you love him. You dragged him all over the city that day, your hand warm in his, Gyu trailing behind the two of you and shooting Wonwoo eyebrow wiggles every time he turned around. He felt like such a newlywed, posing for pictures with you on his arm, and it just made things all the more dangerous for him.

But it worked, the pictures got the financial aid office off your back and got him in closer with his superiors, and Wonwoo learned nothing.

(Conveniently, one of the places you’d fakecationed was where the President had honeymooned)

For posterity, Wonwoo set his favorite photo from that day as his lockscreen, and stubbornly ignored the butterflies that rose in his stomach every time he checked his phone. 

It got a bit more difficult when the board started asking why Wonwoo didn’t bring you to any company functions.

There were… a lot. 

And before, Wonwoo hadn’t felt the need nor the desire to attend the many dinners and parties and cocktail hours the board paid for, but now, he had a wife. Wonwoo had a wife. 

And Alan Connor didn’t, yet. It was time for you to start making appearances, and the excuse that you were studying for an exam or working on a paper could only pass for so long, so Wonwoo dragged you with him to the next dinner party. 

That turned out to be a great decision because not only were Connor and Helen unable to attend, but you, Wonwoo discovered, were a natural at charming old traditional dudes and their wives.

You had knowledge on seemingly every topic, and you had the whole table leaning in to hear your every word without coming off like a know it all. You fielded the flirty (and sometimes sexist) comments from the men with grace, subtly twisting their words to compliment their wives instead, leaving the women blushing and hiding smiles behind cloth napkins.

You were a revelation, honestly, and even got the board to help clean up at the end of the night without twisting any ears. It was the most fun Wonwoo had ever had at a company function, and he resolved to bring you to every possible one after. 

Which was yet another mistake, because Wonwoo had failed to consider the possibility that he’d be charmed too, by your intelligence and kindness and wit. And he was charmed, beyond belief, falling deeper with every outing and falling harder with every sleepy smile you’d send him from the passenger seat afterwards, the way you’d pad into the living room, makeup gone and hair loose, pajamas on and arms ready to snuggle. 

With Queen Bea and Mr. Mittens. Not with Wonwoo. 

Never with Wonwoo. 

It was getting harder to pretend he didn’t wish it was him you pulled into your arms at the end of the night. 

And now here Wonwoo is, staring at you from across the ballroom, his eyes tracing the line of your neck and his smirk hiding behind a champagne glass as you tilt your head back to fake laugh at his coworker.

The crystal chandelier refracts flecks of light on you, golden beams dancing on the soft skin exposed by your slip dress, and Wonwoo tries not to let his eyes linger too long on how the silk fabric drapes over your chest, glides down your body, outlining everything he gets to see but not touch.

His only consolation is that you don’t let anyone else touch either, and he smiles secretly when he sees you grab the touchy asshole’s wrist before his hand can land on your waist, flicking it away from you with disdain. Wonwoo’s first move as CFO will be convincing the board to transfer that guy to Alaska.

You turn on your stilettos to stalk toward him and Wonwoo tries to compose himself, smoothing down the lapels of his suit and straightening his tie, hoping you didn’t notice him watching the interaction.

“Hi honey,” you breathe, then hiss through teeth clenched into a smile, “I swear to all that is holy, if one more of your bastard colleagues tries to feel me up, I will be sending this pointy ass heel through their foot.” 

Wonwoo laughs, gives you explicit permission, and tries to pretend your rage doesn’t turn him on before wrapping a loose arm around your waist and guiding you over to the champagne table. God knows the both of you could use another glass. 

His eyes shift behind his glasses, trying not to follow the drop that slipped past your lips and is currently trailing down your neck, descending toward your chest rapidly. It will show up on the silk, and you’ll be annoyed he didn’t tell you, but he can’t find it in himself to say anything or to stop the drop rolling into your cleavage. You must feel the chill, because you catch it daintily with a cocktail napkin before it gets that far, and he looks away just in time to see Alan Connor storming over. 

“You’re getting the promotion, dickhead, congratu-fucking-lations,” Connor all but shouts at Wonwoo, voice barely low enough to avoid attracting attention. 

“What do you mean? How do you know?” Wonwoo can’t keep the excitement out of his voice and glances over at you only to find you still glaring at Connor for calling him a dickhead. He feels his heart swell and can’t suppress the fond smile rising on his face, feeling so lucky to have a fake-wife as protective as you. 

“You just had to get married before me, didn’t you? Do you know how long I’ve been planning this? How hard it’s been to put up with her?” his rival seethes, chest rising and falling rapidly, face reddening with rage. 

Now Wonwoo really doesn’t know what Connor’s talking about. 

“Put up with who?” You say in unison with Wonwoo and look over to him with a little smile, your eyes glittering. You sound a bit more suspicious than Wonwoo, who sounds more bewildered than anything. 

“Helen! She’s not my fucking fiancée, she’s an actress, you idiots,” he grits out with derision, “I hired her to pretend to be engaged to me so those old bastards would give me the promotion! I was willing to fake a goddamn pregnancy if it got me CFO,” Connor shouts, gesturing wildly, eyes bulging. 

Wonwoo and you are both struck silent. He can feel his heart pounding, both at the fact that he’s going to be the new Chief Financial Officer and at the fact that Connor has been faking his relationship too. Not as well as Wonwoo was, apparently, if he dislikes Helen this much. 

You barely have time to gather yourselves before another voice booms out above all the chatter stirred by Connor’s outburst. 

“Alan Connor. Thank you so much for reassuring me the board made the correct decision. I expect your letter of resignation on my desk tomorrow morning,” President Laybourne states jovially, though his eyes are burning with ire. 

Connor pales, “Bu-but sir, tomorrow’s Saturday! Can we just discuss this like civilized adults, please?”

His pleas are unsuccessful. 

Wonwoo tries not to feel smug as he watches his former enemy be escorted from the hall by security, coughing to cover the laugh attempting to escape him when Connor shoves the guard's hand off his shoulder and shouts, “I can walk by myself!”

The fear rises within him again when the president lingers, eying you and him and the way you stand so close together. Wonwoo doesn’t know when it happened but your hand is entwined with his, fingers tangled together, and your other hand is clutching at his forearm, wrinkling his suit. 

“Well, I guess the cat’s out of the bag,” the president chuckles. “Get it? Because you have cats.” 

Wonwoo laughs much too loud, and he can feel your nails digging into his skin even through the wool of his jacket, telling him to tone it down. 

“Yes, we do have cats,” Wonwoo agrees breathlessly, nodding his head until his glasses start to slip down his nose and your hand appears to still his head and gently push the frames back up to rest correctly. 

President Laybourne eyes him again before continuing, “The promotion is yours, Mr. Jeon. Welcome to the Board of Directors,” he finishes with a smile and his hand primed for a shake. 

Wonwoo tries to compose himself, gently freeing his fingers from yours and wiping his hand off on his pant leg, just in case it’s gotten sweaty, before taking the other man’s hand and firmly shaking it once. Wonwoo’s hand searches for yours as soon as he lets go, probably clutching your fingers tight enough to cut off circulation. 

“You know, I always thought there was something off about Alan and Helen. They seemed…  a bit too fake, a bit too perfect,” the president shakes his head, staring into the distance. “I just didn’t feel like they loved each other, not like Marci and I do. Not like you and your wife do,” he finishes with a clap on Wonwoo’s shoulder that nearly knocks him over before saying goodnight and returning to his wife. 

“Well, now we can never get divorced,” Wonwoo jokes. 

You laugh, saying, “That’s fine with me,” under your breath, and Wonwoo laughs too, before he processes your words and starts to feel like he might die. 

“What? What did you say?” He asks, somewhat desperately, nearly out of his mind with hope. 

Your eyes grow wide, your mouth snapping shut, and you rush out in one breath, “Um, nothing, I’m gonna go see if they put out more of those spring rolls, I’ll be right back!” 

You try to spin and speed away, but Wonwoo is faster than you and catches you by the elbow gently before you can run to the snack table. 

Your eyes won’t meet his, and he ducks and moves around trying to catch your gaze before you finally turn back to him, and he begs, “No, please, tell me what you said.” 

Wonwoo knows he looks pathetic, practically panting and imploring you with his eyes to be honest, his brows pinched so close together they’re skewing his glasses, but he doesn’t care.

If you said what he thinks you said, it will change everything. 

You gnaw on the inside of your bottom lip, looking at him through the sides of your eyes, before your shoulders lose all their tension and you sigh, “I said it would be fine with me. If we never got divorced.” 

You sound defeated and small, like this is something you’ve been holding back, and Wonwoo feels all the air in his lungs exit in a whoosh before both hands fly up to cradle your face and pull you into a searing kiss, months of pent up love and adoration and fondness and lust pouring from his lips into yours. Your shoulders bunch up a bit and your hands move to cover his, and Wonwoo fears for a second that you’ll pull away, tell him that wasn’t what you meant, but you just pull him closer, kissing him back until you’re breathless too. 

Eventually, Wonwoo realizes both that you need air and that you’re at a public function hosted by the company of which he’s just been made Chief Financial Officer, and gently detaches from you. He stays close though, can’t bear to go further than a few inches, and you stare into his eyes before breathing out, “Should we go home? I think we should go home.”

Wonwoo nods before you’re done talking, and he makes straight for the exit on light feet before you veer to the side, tugging him towards his colleagues, and he’s grateful you remembered that the two of you should say your goodbyes. 

He’s as quick as he can be about it, shaking hands and accepting toasts, and when he hears you tell everyone how proud you are of him, knowing you mean it, his heart starts swelling. 

Then Wonwoo hears you say, “My husband and I should be getting home, have a great night!” and something else starts swelling too.

(His dick. Wonwoo is talking about his dick. Oh you got it? Good.)

AN: hiiii so this was a sleepover fic turned oneshot for the lovely @lenireads who was the first person to join my taglist!! thank you so much for supporting me and i hope you enjoy!! there will be a smutty part two, don't worry!!

PART TWO

ALTERNATE ENDING

taglist: @confusedbansheee @junhui-recs @burningupp-replies @heeseung-lover686 @favehoshiposts @gyvswhore @jaysawake (unable to tag) @1004luvangel @bangchanbabygirlx @Baldi-2 (i know you filled out the taglist again but i still cant tag u for some reason im so sorry) @just-here-to-read-01 @gaebestie @noryyyyyyyyy @heavenly-mobo @smalliechelle @shuabby1994 @snowgirlfallen @noraehey @swinterr @fr0g-filez

you can join my taglist here

[sena-shi]

SAGAU but with Scheming Creator!Reader Imposter AU

PT. 2

Lmao, honestly, I dunno what title to put in this one soooo, just let it stay like that I guess?

*ੈ✩‧₊˚⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You kept running and running; you travel to wherever destination the wind was blowing you to. In spite of the fact that Venti is the Anemo Archon, it seems as though the wind favors you more than it does him. You are grateful for this, as you are able to consistently enjoy a decent night's sleep without getting stabbed.

You get a considerable amount of pleasure out of playing with them, even though it may be rather exhausting. Although your new body is one that is gradually becoming endowed with divine energy, you are nevertheless able to experience tiredness, but it is manageable.

Your next objective should be the land of contracts, which is home to the Geo Archon, given that the entire city of freedom is actively pursuing you at this point.

You can't help but wonder if Zhongli will make an effort to eliminate you as well.

You are always excited by the prospect of encountering something new.

Even though they had been given orders to execute you on the spot, Venti was the one leading his nation in the pursuit of capturing you alive and bringing you back to their city. Why? Maybe for his own personal gain.

Even though he managed to cut your arm with the razor-sharp edge of the wind that he controls, you have a sneaking suspicion that he isn't actually interested in hurting you.

When you locked your disappointed and betrayed gaze with his, you did notice how he flinched and appeared to be considering whether or not to continue.

However, you were also able to observe the frightening gaze that he cast in your direction the moment he first laid eyes on you. It infuriated him to think that someone would break into the holy grounds while dressed as his creator and even wearing his creator's skin.

Even then, he was still fairly alright in the head and was not yet an idiot who would unhesitatingly pounce on someone just because their master commanded them to do so.

In this world, the existence of gold blood is not anything that can be considered extraordinary. Even though it is extremely uncommon, it can still be seen on a few persons who are believed to have been blessed by the creator.

The substance that emerges from your wounds is not blood but rather star glitters. And as if the world were devoid of gravity, it will not drop on the ground but gradually ascend towards the heavens until it is once more reunited with the stars. It was believed that the creator carries the universe within them, and some people may even speculate that you are the universe itself, and that Teyvat is just one of the many lucky worlds that you have created.

It was also said that the creator once shed a tear, and that tear took the form of a dazzling crystal as it fell to the ground. It was brilliant and untainted, much like you are. Even if it is stunning and would like to see it in person, they will never be able to find it in themselves to bring another tear to the eyes of their maker.

They would never stop listening to you soothe them with your gentle voice, especially the vision holders. And when you had finally descended, the Teyvat itself did not rejoice, despite the fact that the Archons and their people did.

You were humming softly, and the stars in the night sky seemed to glow even more intensely in response to the sound of your voice. The wounds that you have sustained have at long last healed. You honestly made sure that all arrows launched towards you would hit your body, and you didn't dodge anything, not even the sharp cut of wind that Venti would inflict upon you, nor the scorching heat of the fire that grazed your skin. You made sure that every arrow will hit your body.

Whatever it is that your children present you, it goes without saying that you will gladly accept it with open arms. Having said that, you do harbor the hope that when the time comes for you to eventually decide to pay them back, they would likewise accept it with open arms.

“Mm. They move exceptionally slow, don't they?”

As you moved to a position on top of the tree in Windrise that was more comfortable for you, your melodious voice echoed throughout the surroundings. The wind encircled your body as though it were trying to reassure you, that they will come soon, and the rustling of the leaves on the tree generated a soothing swishing sound. You moved your feet around gracefully while the wind played with your long hair and made it dance.

As soon as you heard the sound of footsteps coming towards your location, a sly grin spread across your face.

They discovered you seated on a branch of the tree, gazing down at them with a melancholy expression plastered across your face.

Jean, Diluc, Kaeya, Lisa— and won’t you look at that? The Anemo Archon himself.

You observed as Venti appeared to take a breath in deeply, as though he was appreciating the wind. Indeed, Venti was reminiscing; it seemed like an eternity since the Windrise had experienced a moment of tranquillity. Because this is the location at which he had his initial encounter with the voice of the creator, it is and will always be for him a place of great serenity. But, as is always the case, it does not feel complete; rather, it gives the impression that something is missing.

But today, he seems to have a feeling that his soul is whole. To the point where he feels like his heart is going to explode from its own fullness. But why is that?

You couldn't help but crack a fake smile when you saw Venti in such a relaxed state. It's probably about time that he finds out the truth about who you truly are. The moment is drawing nearer when he will start seeking you.

However, when that moment arrives, you will make it sure that you are unreachable and far away from their grasps filled with desire.

Desire for you, and only you.

“Imposter.”

You did not speak as you quietly observed them.

“Although we have received the order from her grace to kill you on the spot, we will be lenient and hand you over to our divine creator instead,” Jean said, the disdain in her voice was not really new to you, but you did not really know what to make of it.

But they are aware that the reason is not because they want the divine creator to settle their differences with you personally. Something itches well down in the depths of their hearts, but they are unable to identify the feeling that they are experiencing. Is it because your appearance is so similar to their creator? However, considering that you are an imposter, this would make complete sense, but still— they can’t—

Their visions trembled as if they were resonating with the bearer's genuine emotions and attempting to draw closer to you, but none of them saw this.

On the spur of the moment, the wind appeared to be suffocating. The abrupt change in the wind caused Venti's eyes to widen, and the others' facial expressions toward you became increasingly hostile as they frowned.

The wind is going mad with rage, seeking retribution for the fact that it has angered their creator; it wants to suffocate them, it wants to—

"The Divine Creator..." You mumbled.

Then it stopped.

The tension was finally broken by a gentle voice, and the wind quickly returned to its previous state.

“Are you—" You were on the verge of laughing at the amount of garbage you had heard, but you managed to force it all back down.

Your looked down at your hands resting on your lap as you spoke quietly, “Are you replacing me now?”

“Ha! And here we are offering you the opportunity to maybe continue your life under her grace, and you had the nerve to imply that you are going to be replaced?"

"How can we worship you as our creator when you were never our creator? An imposter being delusional, I see."

When they saw the pained smile that formed on your face, their hearts all ached. But none of them paid attention to it. Perhaps they are experiencing these emotions because, ever since their creator descended, her grace has never given them a glance that is so heart-wrenching that they feel as though they will suffocate from the amount of guilt that it causes. Their divine creator, who is seated on the throne, experiences constant joy without any of the slightest bit of suffering, as she ought to in that position.

“I see…” You whispered to yourself as you slowly released a trembling breath.

Is that all there was to it then? When they have reaped all of the benefits that your grace and blessings have to offer, they will simply find someone else to fill your place? Even more so, with a face that look exactly like yours?

You couldn't help but laugh on the inside as you played out your part as a discarded creator, someone who was simply substituted for another.

You are quite interested in performing the final play that you have written, but not just yet. It is still necessary for you to invite the other nations to participate in the game with you all. At this very moment, they are most likely looking for you as well. However, waiting can be extremely taxing, so instead of waiting for anything to happen, why don't you go out and get it for yourself?

You just like seeking death, don’t you? Your actual life was comprised solely of boring and unimpressive things. Nothing will ever make you happy or give you the satisfaction you crave.

"However, I am not attempting to impersonate your Divine Creator. I only wish to be left alone to live my life in peace, can I not stay in this world?" You uttered your words in a soft tone as you kept your gaze fixed onto them with a kind expression.

Your ears suddenly filled with the sound of a low chuckle, but it was not one of amusement or any other emotion. It seemed as if they were making a mockery of you when you said that.

“Not imitating, I see.”

At this point, you are feeling exhausted, and it does not appear like they will allow you to live in peace within the world that you have created.

"If that is what you want, then I will remove myself from your line of sight,”

You spoke as the wind wafted closer to you and your surroundings.

You fixated your gaze on each of them, attempting to make a mental note of the surprised emotions on their faces.

But Venti. Oh, your poor Venti. He must have realized everything by now.

It is possible that you will run into him again sooner than you had originally anticipated since he appears to be normal enough and is not acting like a crazed dog that is barking for the person they call their true divine creator.

"However, I will not allow myself to be handed to your creator.”

The previously pleasant voice that greeted them when they arrived had become ice-cold and emotionless in its tone by the time it was their turn to speak.

“You—!” Jean let out a yell while she stood there with her hand on the hilt of her sword.

“Wait—!” Venti yelled and made an effort to approach you, but even his own wind repelled him and kept him at a distance.

And just like that, you were gone, like a breath of fresh air.

Venti was only successful in grabbing a handful of wind from the location where you had been previously. The feeling of completeness that he had experienced once more before had begun to dissipate completely. At this given moment, the wind in Windrise is behaving exactly the same as it does on any other day.

It is true that there is peacefulness.

But once again, there is something missing.

Venti collapsed to the ground, and he experienced a sudden weakening in his knees. When you spoke to him with a harsh tone in your voice, he was not able to bear it. It seemed as though the absence of you caused him unexplainable anguish in his heart.

It was much like those other times, whenever you give words of comfort to him. It seems as though he is only a few steps away from you but is unable to approach you. However, now that he had the opportunity to touch you, he let his ignorance get the best of him, and as a result, he lost everything.

Truly, it hurts more when you yearn for something that you cannot have anymore.

Far away from the Windrise and away from the city of freedom, you, who stood serenely on top of the Guyun Stone Forest, patiently waited for the new danger that is about to come.

Your beautiful appearance was not diminished in any way by the tattered dress that you were wearing. You almost look like the loving, benevolent, and holy creator that you are. Except for the fact that there was a look of amusement on your face at the same time. Like some divine being that was taking joy in watching their creations rushing up to worship at their feet.

The ground violently shook, and everything that Teyvat has to offer their one and only creator is ready to protect you from any potential threat that may appear anytime soon.

And indeed, he did not fail to live up to your expectations; there behind you stood the Geo Archon himself, scrutinizing every aspect of your being. His glare was aggressive, and it appeared very much as though he wanted to force you into going to the ocean floor with Osial, where his divine creator won't be able to look at such a revolting imposter as you.

You slowly turned your head to look at him with the same tenderness and warmth in your eyes that is currently the reflection of the night skies above you. You appeared to be delighted to see him by the way you stared at him, but then you pretended to be astonished by the way he was glaring at you. You blinked your eyes pretty slowly, giving the impression that you were really hurt and surprised by the way he welcomed your return.

His glare wavered, and he began to relax his stance, as though he were thinking back to the days when his divine creator had not yet descended to their world.  Those moments when you would only communicate with him from above.

Having witnessed his behavior, you almost found yourself amused at how soft Zhongli can get when it comes to you.

Good child, you didn't disappoint me.

One wonders what sort of surprises he would bring.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

;; peh, why beta read when you can just drop a bunch of sentences and post like boom boom bakudan

[everyones-least-favorite-bard]

"...I thus drew steadily nearer to the truth, by whose partial discovery I have been doomed to such a dreadful shipwreck: that man is not truly one, but truly two."

[wonielvr]

[12:49] – nishimura riki

"hey, mind if I sit here?" riki asked quietly. the librarian hated him anyway, making a fuss like the last time he went to the school's library for a project would result in a one way ticket to hell from that grumpy old lady.

"nope. Why didn't you answer my calls?" you asked intriguingly, yet your face adorned a funny expression. The truth is you knew he wouldn't pick them up, that's just how riki is, all over the place, the kind of guy who would look for his sunglasses for hours unknowing of the fact they are on his head the entire time.

"I'm sorry, you know me... what did you call me for?" he stumbled over his words adorably. You patted twice on the gray cushioned seat next to you, signalling him to sit next to you.

"Do you remember that absolute jerk that entitled the seat next to me I saved for you in art class?" you asked snakingly. "Well he also claimed me as a partner for that stupid assignment! that freak!"

"unacceptable! I shall now call him and announce that my dear lady fell sick, and would like to do their assignment only along with those immune to the sickness, aka only her darling of a friend, me!" he went elegantly through the words with an unnecessary weird accent that was somehow meant to mock the british.

"well guess what, I confronted him, and now I'm forever stuck along the shadow of said darling of a friend. Say hello to your new assignment partner!"

"hey! Keep quiet there in the back, you pricks of the new generation," a hoarse voice suddenly called from under the big pile of books next to the two of you.

you and riki sure did have quite a laugh on account of the grouchy blob of sadness that was that woman, but after an expected long period of not being able to work, you managed to actually finish the assignment.

"did you know that I read-" he started confidently as if he was about to reveal the meaning of life to you.

"you can read?!" you interrupted him playfully. If he didn't like you as much as he does you would probably be left with a big red mark of his hand on your face for eternity.

he gave you a disappointed look in response and restarted the sentence. "I read about how physical closeness of friends through a hug or a kiss can reflect the way they view eachother romantically."

"I am absolutely sure you're making this up right now..." your sentence dragged while he leaned into you. Even though you were sure he was speaking nonsense, he was right after all. Your heartbeat was so loud in your ears you thought it would deafen you.

all the girls in the school theorised that riki is a majestic kisser, and they were all right. You never felt so passionate yet goalless, insisting yet high on cloud nine.

"out! now, you little turds! cumberworlds!" the woman reappeared out of nowhere once again, cursing as if she was a victorian woman well in the past. well, she seems old enough to be one.

[pendwelling]

🌌 「Demon King of Salvation」 🌌

[ofallthingsnasty]

I'm not sure if you're still taking requests for the yandere alphabet, but if you are would you do A I and Q for Crocodile please? I absolutely love how you write him ❤️

Yandere Alphabet letters f, h, n and y for crocodile !!! i'm glad 💕 and of course!! prompt lists like that are super fun, they're excellent for warm ups (☆▽☆)

tw yandere, violence mention, death mention, minors dni

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

That really depends on your definition of love - is it love when he gifts you an entire wardrobe, when he keeps you fed and entertained, when he even indulges your little hobbies and gets you some pencils, some yarn, books? Or is that him playing dress-up doll with you, molding you into something that suits him? Is gift giving not a sign that he thinks about you, that he cares for you? Is it love when he graciously ignores you sulking over dinner instead of beating the blues out of you? Is it not love when he lets himself rest on your lap? Does love need grand exclamations and his hands on you all the time? But it really up to who you ask, hm? Because I'm sure that you see everything in a different light than him. In his mind, he's being more than generous, more than loving - while you probably feel like you're about to suffocate, know exactly that he expects gratitude for all the things he gets you, for all the patience he's shown you. So, is it love, a desire to care for you or is it yet another manipulation tactic? Probably both. As for intensity, that man's entire presence is the definition of stifling - he may not be intense in the traditional sense, but those tiny little touches, that hand on your shoulder, thigh, cheek will feel like they weigh a ton. He knows how to impose, how to talk without opening his mouth.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Nothing big, really. He doesn't want kids, he wants power and an Ancient Weapon - you're a nice addition to that. I think he just wants to keep the status quo once you've... been broken in enough. It's rather simple.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

Okay, first thing first: you don't leave. Don't fool yourself into thinking that you can somehow slip through his fingers, that'd be entirely ridiculous - the only way out of this is one of you kicking the bucket, because even if the stars aligned and someone were to come to your rescue, he'd drag you back by the scruff of your neck. And if you die, well, tough luck. That little dream is over, then. Is it going to sting? Sure. Will he have a big fit over it? Depends on the circumstances. But he'll do as he always does - goes back to his never-ending work to accomplish something, to build up something, to get a profit out his work. There just won't be anyone to come home to like there used to be.